


With a little water (and a little bit of sunlight)

by worms212



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (probably), Angst, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Family, Fire, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Food Metaphors, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Manga Spoilers, Medical Inaccuracies, Metaphorical Barn-Raising, Miya Atsumu is a Good Brother, Post-Time Skip, Post-Timeskip, Sibling Bonding, Siblings, i make this seem sadder than it is, rice, tragedy is merely a vessel for sibling bondng and rice metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 25,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28142709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worms212/pseuds/worms212
Summary: When a fire leaves Onigiri Miya in ashes, Osamu is left to pick up the pieces. Thankfully, he's not alone.ORA meditation on rice, healing, and kicking your brother's ass, when he deserves it (and even when he doesn't).
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou & Hinata Shouyou & Miya Atsumu & Sakusa Kiyoomi, Kita Shinsuke & Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu & Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 113
Kudos: 259





	1. I'd like to think we're friends

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This chapter contains mentions of building fires and hospitals!
> 
> Fic title comes from "Absolute Lithops Effect" by The Mountain Goats.

Something heavy had been worming its way into the pit of Atsumu’s stomach ever since practice ended, ghastly and foreboding. There was no particular reason for him to be feeling that way; he didn’t feel sick at all, and that day’s training had actually gone exceptionally well. He’d actually gotten in a service ace on Sakusa during a three-on-three, and he had plans to lorde it over him for weeks if he could get away with it. He just felt off, like something wasn’t quite right with the world, but quickly chalked it up to his own mind getting ahead of itself and swallowed the sickly feeling creeping up his throat.

“Are you okay, Atsumu-san?”

Hinata’s concerned voice jolted Atsumu out of his runaway thoughts. He raised his head to see Hinata standing beside the bench, brow furrowed as he set his shoes in his locker. Aside from them and Bokuto, the rest of the team was nowhere to be found--typical, given how easily distracted the trio could get.

“Sorry, Shou-kun,” Atsumu said, feigning nonchalance. “Just gettin’ distracted by my own thoughts. Dontcha worry about me, m’fine.”

Hinata didn’t seem convinced.

“Well, alright.” He scrunched up his nose, seeming reluctant. “You just seem off, is all.”

Atsumu shrugged. “Just tired, I guess.” He pulled his phone out of his gym bag and frowned. He had several missed calls from his mother. Didn’t she know he would be at practice?

“Hey, Tsumu-Tsumu, you wanna get some grub with Hinata and me?” Bokuto called over from his locker.

“Ya know, Bokkun, I think I’m just gonna head home and crash, if that’s alright with ya.”

If Bokuto was disappointed, he quickly doused it with a heavy dose of positivity. “Okay! I’ll see you tomorrow night, then.”

“Make sure you have a good meal when you get home! No skipping!” Hinata demanded.

Atsumu chuckled. “I will, Shouyou. I promise.”

The pair bid Atsumu farewell and left the locker room. With a shaky breath, Atsumu opened his mother’s contact and pressed the call button. She picked up after the first ring.

_ “Atsumu!” _

“Whatcha need, Ma?” Atsumu asked, feigning annoyance to obscure his worry. “I told ya I was in--”

_ “Honey, listen, how soon can ya be in Kobe?” _

“In Kobe? Maybe thirty minutes, why? What’s going on?” In his stupor, Atsumu failed to notice Sakusa reenter the locker room from his traditional Extended Shower (likely spent sulking over the service ace) and begin watching him like a hawk from behind while he gathered his things.

_ “It’s Osamu.” _

The pit in Atsumu’s stomach burst open like a bubble, acid cloying in his throat.

“Ma, out with it. What’s wrong with him? What’s happening?”

_ “There was a fire at the restaurant,”  _ Mama Miya said hesitantly, like saying it out loud made it real.  _ “He’s-- He waltzed right back in there, gods know why--” _

“Really? Okay. Ma, listen. Where is ‘Samu?”

_ “At the hospital. He’s not conscious. They think he’s gonna be okay, but…”  _ She trailed off, breaking down into tears, her sobs echoing through the receiver loud enough for Sakusa to hear clear as day.

“Shit. Okay, hey, don’t cry, alright? I’m comin’ real soon. I’m leavin’ the gym now, I’ll be there soon as I can, Mama. Ya just text me the address of the hospital and I’ll be there.”

Mama Miya made a barely coherent noise of affirmation between sobs and let her son hang up. Atsumu ended the call and promptly dropped his phone to the ground.

“Fuck!” he shouted, scrambling to shove all his belongings into his bag. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!”

“Miya.”

Atsumu whirled around with a screech. Sakusa stood by his own locker, gym bag slung over his shoulder. He nodded his head toward the exit, completely calm save for the glint of panic behind his dark eyes.

“Time to go. Come on, I’m driving you to Kobe,” he said.

Atsumu bristled at having been caught in his worst moment. “I’m just gonna take the train, Omi-kun, just go home and have dinner and don’t worry about me.”

“Too late.” Sakusa crossed his arms over his chest. “I know very little about what’s going on here, Miya, but I do know this: I know something’s happened to your brother, and you need to get to Kobe as soon as possible. I also know that I have anxiety, and I am going to go insane if I don’t ensure that you make it there in one piece, given the fact that you look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Omi-kun, it’s fine, would ya just--”

“Atsumu!” Sakusa raised his voice. “It is a 10 minute sprint from here to the station, assuming you don’t get yourself hit by a bus before you make it there. I have a very fast car and I am an excellent driver. I can get you to Kobe quickly, for free, and if you stop giving me a hard time I’ll even let you freak out in the passenger seat all you want. Now swallow your pride for once in your life and get in the fucking car.”

A beat of staticky silence passed between them before Atsumu deflated, knowing he’d been beaten.

“Thank you, Omi.”

* * *

  
  


For the next thirty minutes, Sakusa drove with his hands clenched around the wheel as Atsumu cycled through the entire spectrum of human emotion at supersonic speed. After giving Sakusa a jumbled crash course in what was probably amounting to the worst day in Atsumu’s life, he’d begun flitting between frantically refreshing his phone, muttering things to himself as he tried to steady his own breathing, and singing along hysterically to jpop songs on the radio. It was, admittedly, a bit maddening, but Sakusa had promised him he could freak out, and frankly, he wasn’t keen on making a fuss out of anything that prevented Atsumu from throwing up from anxiety all over the perfectly maintained all-black interior of Sakusa’s very expensive car.

“Fuck-- ‘Samu’s awake!” Atsumu eventually exclaimed, staring starry-eyed at his cell phone. “Oh, gods, I’m so glad he’s awake. I’m gonna hug that idiot when I see him. Fuck!”

Sakusa couldn’t help the wave of tension that left his body at the news. “That’s great,” he said.

And then, of course, five minutes later:

“I’m gonna kill him.”

Sakusa sighed. “Miya, please don’t attack your hospitalized brother.”

“Shut yer trap, Omi-Omi! Motherfucker deserves it!” (Sakusa rolled his eyes; it was time to veer headfirst into a new emotion, it seemed.) “Who runs INTO a fire? What’s the hell’s wrong with ‘im? I swear I’m gonna give that moron exactly what’s comin’ to him.”

“Five minutes ago, that was a hug.”

“Well, then I’ll hug him ‘til he pops!”

  
  


When Sakusa pulled up outside the hospital, Atsumu was practically falling out of the car before he’d even put it in park.

“Your bag’s still in the trunk,” Sakusa called, scrambling out of the driver’s seat after him. “Are you sure you don’t need anything? Practice isn’t until late tomorrow; I can stick around if you need me to.”

Atsumu slammed the trunk shut. “Why’re ya bein’ so nice to me, Omi-kun?”

“I’d like to think we’re friends, Miya. Listen, I’m going to find something to eat. If you want, I’ll bring you something, because you need to eat. But if you want me to go home, I’ll go home, on the condition that you promise to keep me updated, and to get in touch with Coach tomorrow.”

“I don’t know, okay? I just wanna see my brother.” Atsumu’s hands were trembling, and oh, gods, if Sakusa didn’t get the hell out of dodge he was going to have a sobbing Atsumu on his hands.

“Whatever, Miya, I’ll be around. Go on. Text me, alright? And call Meian!”

Without another word, Atsumu bounded through the hospital’s front doors and was gone.

  
_ Moron, _ Sakusa thought, and then he drove away into the Hyogo night, jpop still playing on the radio all the way home.


	2. Somethin' like that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu, being Atsumu, was always better at expressing his anger, so he dumped his bag on the floor and gave in to the murderous intent that had developed in the car. Because if he didn’t get pissed, he was going to cry, and that wasn’t in his plans.
> 
> OR: Atsumu just really loves his stupid brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do we even know where Onigiri Miya is? I just decided it was in Kobe.

The moment Atsumu burst into Osamu’s hospital room and saw him there, an oxygen mask over his face and a brace around his right wrist, hair and face a mess and heavy bags under his eyes, he experienced a truckload of emotions all at once. First, at the way his brother’s eyes lit up upon seeing him, came a complicated mixture of joy, sadness, fear, worry, and love. Then, at seeing his brother’s stupid face, came pure unadulterated rage. And Atsumu, being Atsumu, was always better at expressing his anger, so he dumped his bag on the floor and gave in to the murderous intent that had developed in the car. Because if he didn’t get pissed, he was going to cry, and that wasn’t in his plans.

“Osamu, you fuckin’ idiot!” he shouted, storming over to the foot of the bed and pointedly ignoring his mother’s protests. “What the hell’s wrong with ya, walkin’ back into a fuckin’ fire like that? Ya got a death wish or somethin’? What the  _ fuck _ could be so important for you to be goin’ back in there for?”

“Atsumu, enough!” Mama Miya snapped. But Osamu held his hand up to stop her. He mouthed something like “It’s okay” before beckoning Atsumu closer, and Atsumu wasn’t sure which of them it was directed at.

With his anger out of the way, Atsumu felt the tears prick at his eyes. He stumbled forward and flung his arms out, trying to hug Osamu as best he could through the tubes attached to him, and sobbed. Osamu was  _ here _ , alive and breathing at least mostly on his own. He wrapped his bandaged arms around his twin and drew him closer wordlessly.

“Dontcha ever do that to me again, ‘Samu, ya hear me?” Atsumu sobbed against his shoulder. “Gods, I’m so glad yer alive. I love you, dumbass.”

Osamu said nothing, but he squeezed his brother a little tighter, and Atsumu knew he was saying  _ I love you too _ .

* * *

  
  


When Osamu’s doctor came in to run some more tests, their mother dragged Atsumu outside for some fresh air and a chat. She sat him down on the step and gripped his hand tight. Finally, Atsumu’s world felt like it was slowing down again, the familiar Hyogo air wrapping around him like a blanket.

Now, Atsumu got a good look at his mother for the first time since he arrived. The building lights illuminated the heavy bags under her bloodshot eyes, heavier than Osamu’s and heavier than the ones Atsumu was sure he wore himself. Her graying hair was a bit unkempt, frizzy at the ends. But she projected strength, just as she always had.

“We won’t know exactly what happened in there until he can tell us himself,” Mama Miya began, looking out at the street. “So far, though, the doctors seem to think he’ll pull through without any permanent damage to his lungs, provided he takes it easy for a while. They’re gonna keep him here for a night or two to make sure, but his doctor told me point blank it’s a miracle he ain’t hurt worse.”

“He’s a lucky bastard,” Atsumu said fondly.

His mother hummed and tugged at the stray hairs at the nape of his neck. “Your brother’s a strong young man, Atsumu. You both are.”

Silence draped over top of them. Atsumu watched the cars pass by and tried not to think about anything. The city was bathed in an artificial glow, a far cry from his hometown; it wasn’t any different from Osaka, but somehow getting closer to home always made Atsumu long for it even more.

“Are ya stayin’?” Mama Miya asked eventually, drawing Atsumu out of his quiet stupor.

He looked into her weary eyes, gunmetal gray like Osamu’s.

“Yeah, I can stay,” he said gently. Then he grinned. “Gotta look out for my little brother, right, Ma?”

Mama Miya smiled softly and ruffled his hair. “Attaboy, Atsumu.”

* * *

  
  


When they reentered the hospital, the receptionist called out to Atsumu.

“Ah, Atsumu-san, isn’t it?” He nodded and gestured for his mom to head up without him before approaching the front desk. The receptionist reached down and produced a plastic grocery bag, tied shut with a perfectly neat knot. There was a sticky note stuck onto it with his name written in familiar elegant script.

“Another young man brought this in not too long ago, and was very adamant that I get it to you,” the receptionist explained when Atsumu did not say anything.

“Very tall, dark curly hair, a little serious looking, probably wearin’ a mask?” he asked.

The receptionist smiled. “That’s the one. A friend of yours?”

Atsumu hummed, feeling warmth spread through his chest. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.” He smiled in return. “Thank ya very much, ma’am.”

The receptionist nodded. “Of course. Take care.”

Atsumu took the bag with him to the deserted hospital cafeteria and carefully undid the knot. Inside was a take out container of ramen and several energy bars, along with a bottle of water and a can of Atsumu’s favorite tea, still warm to the touch. There were also utensils and napkins, and a handwritten note lay on top.

_ Miya, _

_ This is your reminder to take care of yourself and to call Meian. You should also expect to be pestered by Bokuto and Hinata in particular, as they have no concept of boundaries. I am heading back to Osaka, so please don’t do anything stupid, and give Osamu my best. _

_ Sakusa _

Atsumu folded up the note and tucked it in his pocket. He would text Sakusa a thank-you later, but for now he dug into his meal in the solemn silence of the empty cafeteria by the harsh glow of the overhead fluorescent lights. And if a few tears dripped onto the table, well, no one had to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> I refuse to believe that Sakusa is anything other than a weirdly overbearing friend!


	3. Meian's dad mode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can’t even talk yet and yer still findin’ ways to annoy me,” Atsumu grumbled, pulling his chair closer. Osamu stuck out his tongue.
> 
> OR: Osamu discovers the power of technology. Atsumu wishes phones had never been invented.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of a shorty! But I'll be posting more after this to make up for it. I have a good deal of this fic written already, but I don't want to give it all away at once.

The next morning, Atsumu woke with a crick in his neck to the soothing sound of a robotic voice saying “‘Tsumu” over and over again. He rubbed his eyes and winced as he straightened up in the barely-padded chair he’d slept in, and he saw Osamu smirking at him from his bed, tapping repeatedly at his phone.

“Can’t even talk yet and yer still findin’ ways to annoy me,” Atsumu grumbled, pulling his chair closer. Osamu stuck out his tongue; last night, his oxygen mask had been replaced with a cannula, giving him much more freedom to piss off his brother. Atsumu glanced around the room.

“Where’s Ma? She head home before I woke up?”

Osamu nodded and typed away at his phone, one-handed. It was a bit slow going, since his dominant wrist was currently sprained. “Shower,” the disembodied voice said.

“Ah.” Atsumu hummed. “Do ya... feel any better today?”

A frown crept its way onto Osamu’s face, and he shrugged. Atsumu knew his twin better than Atsumu knew himself, and he could tell Osamu did not want to talk about what happened. So Atsumu tamped down his morbid curiosity and reached over to ruffle his brother’s dark hair.

Osamu ducked out of the way (as best he could in his state) and tapped at a pre-set button on his phone app.

“Fuck you,” the robot said. And then again, “Fuck you. Fuck you.”

“Okay, okay!” Atsumu chuckled and withdrew his hand. “So glad ya have that as a preset, ‘Samu, damn.”

Osamu started typing again, and then: “Are you okay?”

Atsumu stiffened. “Of course, ‘Samu. m’fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

There was a pause while Osamu typed some more in that stilted way of his, before the phone said, “You weren’t last night.”

Of course, for as well as Atsumu knew Osamu, Osamu knew Atsumu ten-fold. Atsumu gave in, dropping the tension in his sore shoulders.

“I was worried about ya, dumbass, why wouldn’t I be?”

Osamu rolled his eyes, but didn’t press the issue further. Instead, he let out a series of weak coughs and leaned back against his pillow, eyes still bloodshot and drooping.

“Ya wanna go back to sleep?” Atsumu asked.

Despite barely appearing awake anymore, Osamu shook his head slowly and typed out a message on his phone.

“Talk.”

“Ya want me to talk? Fine, I’ll talk to ya,” Atsumu said. “But if ya start fallin’ asleep, then sleep, got it?”

Osamu nodded. So Atsumu started talking, about anything and everything. His brother listened intently, very rarely interjecting with a question or comment, and eventually his eyes slid shut and he drifted off to sleep, breath evening out into a slow and steady rhythm. Atsumu readjusted the thin hospital blanket around Osamu and stayed dutifully by his side as he slept, feeling like as long as he had eyes on his twin, nothing could hurt him anymore.

* * *

  
  


Later in the afternoon, after Mama Miya had returned and Osamu was more awake and feeling a bit better, Atsumu’s phone started vibrating in his pocket. When he fished it out, he realized he had multiple missed text messages from his teammates, but more importantly, Meian was calling him.

Atsumu felt his blood run cold, a numbness spreading through his body and invading the empty pit in his stomach that still had yet to close back up again. With a swear, he leapt out of his chair and out of the room, much to the stunned surprise of his mom and brother. Once he was in the hallway, he accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear.

“Shit, Meian-san, I’m so sorry,” he blurted. “I was supposed to call, Omi told me so many times, I’m--”

_ “Atsumu!”  _ Meian interrupted.  _ “It’s okay, I’m not mad. Foster’s not in today, so he doesn’t know you’re not here, okay? I’ll talk to him for you.” _

Atsumu breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Meian-san. I’m so sorry.”

_ “Again, it’s alright, Atsumu-kun. Just breathe. Tell me what’s going on, okay? Sakusa told me you had a family emergency.” _

“Yeah, my… Osamu’s been in an accident. A fire, at Onigiri Miya.” Atsumu rubbed at his eye with the palm of his free hand. “I’m in Kobe right now, makin’ sure he’s okay.”

_ “I’m sorry, Atsumu.” _

“Dontcha go feelin’ sorry for me, Captain. We’ll be alright out here, I promise ya.”

_ “Do you want some time off? I can get Foster to let you off the hook for a week or so, if you need.” _

Atsumu felt some of the tension roll off of his body in waves. “Yes please.”

_ “Of course. The team is scrambling to hear from you, you know. Bokuto and Hinata especially.” _

“I’ll call ‘em tonight, maybe, Meian-san. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the abrupt ending; I wasn't sure how to end this chapter. Also, I know we barely have any characterization for Meian in canon, but I have decided he has dad energy.


	4. Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was akin to checking for monsters under a kid’s bed, he figured--only in this case it was his 23-year-old twin brother, and not a small child.
> 
> OR: Osamu has a nightmare. Atsumu is a good brother.

When they brought Osamu home, it was not to his own apartment in the city but back to their childhood home, where the air was cleaner and the streets quieter, and more importantly where both Atsumu and their mother could keep a closer eye on him. It would be at least a couple weeks before Osamu was back on his feet, maybe longer. With his time off, Atsumu spent the days hanging out with his brother while their mother went back to work, largely ignoring phone calls and fielding occasional visits from neighbors and old teammates. For his part, Osamu spent a lot of the time Atsumu wasn’t actively bugging him asleep, either in the old armchair in the living room or on the bottom bunk in the twins’ old bedroom. At night, he flitted anxiously around the house checking on plugs and appliances when he thought no one was looking, and slept fitfully, tossing and turning in the bunk below Atsumu’s.

Atsumu got the news that Osamu’s voice had come back when he woke with a start, nearly hitting his head on the ceiling, at the sound of his brother shouting incomprehensibly in his sleep.

“‘Tsumu?” Osamu called out, gasping as he thrashed and kicked himself awake. Atsumu was already halfway down the ladder.

“I’m up, I’m up,” he whispered, squatting beside the bunk. “What’s the matter?”

“I smell smoke,” Osamu croaked, voice painfully hoarse. The sound grated on Atsumu’s ears with how unlike his brother it sounded. As Atsumu’s eyes adjusted properly to the darkness, he could see the way Osamu stared at him wide-eyed, the way his chest was heaving.

“I’m pretty sure that’s just you smellin’ the inside of yer own nose, man,” he said. When Osamu’s body language did not change, Atsumu sighed. “Do ya want me to go check?”

Osamu nodded. Suppressing another heavy sigh, Atsumu pushed himself up to his feet and announced he’d be back in a few before taking his leave.

He did a complete survey of the house, despite knowing there was nothing wrong. It was akin to checking for monsters under a kid’s bed, he figured--only in this case it was his 23-year-old twin brother, and not a small child. But no matter--if it got both of them back to sleep sooner, he’d take it. Before heading back to their shared room, Atsumu stopped over in the kitchen and filled a glass with filtered water from the tap. He promptly chugged it and left it in the sink before filling another cup and carrying it back with him.

When Atsumu returned, Osamu was seated on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. He lifted his head when he heard the door, looking sheepish. He’d turned on the desk lamp, casting a warm glow through the room.

“Shit, ‘Tsumu, I’m sorry,” he muttered as his brother sat down beside him and passed him the glass of water. He drank it greedily before he continued, “That was fuckin’ stupid and I know it. Sorry for wakin’ ya and makin’ ya run around like that.”

“Ah, don’t feel too bad, ‘Samu. Ya were havin’ a nightmare.” Atsumu shrugged. “No shame in that.”

“Still…”

Atsumu snickered. “What, are ya embarrassed?” he teased, earning himself a glare and a sharp elbow-jab in the side. He grumbled and scowled at his twin, but he could only hold the sour expression for so long before he felt his jaw soften.

“Try to get back to sleep.” Atsumu took the empty cup from Osamu’s hand and set it on the desk before shutting off the light and climbing back into the top bunk. After a moment he heard the sheets rustling as Osamu settled back down. “Ya gonna be okay?”

“I don’t know.”

The honesty of the admission struck Atsumu for a moment. Then he sighed and climbed back down, pillow in hand.

“Move over.”

Osamu slid over towards the wall and Atsumu climbed in beside him. They were pretty cramped, considering they were two well-built young men trying to fit into a twin bunk--Osamu ended up practically tucked into Atsumu’s side. But he seemed to relax, as he had when they were just kids, and once his breathing had evened out into a steady rhythm, Atsumu felt himself drift off into a peaceful slumber too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mama Miya probably sleeps like a log after many years of dealing with these two idiots being loud at 2 AM, don't @ me.


	5. It'll all work out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hinata eyed Atsumu through the screen. “This is the third or fourth different game Kenma’s challenged him to just this afternoon alone,” he stage-whispered conspiratorially. “He knows he’ll win, and I think he just gets some kind of sick satisfaction out of it.”
> 
> OR: It's MSBY time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see me write their Kansai-ben inconsistently, no you don't.

It was a relatively quiet afternoon, and Atsumu felt antsy, a heavy cloud hanging over his head. There was no practice, so he did the only thing he could think to do and took his phone into the kitchen to call the sunniest person he knew. The FaceTime call only rang twice before it was answered, Hinata’s contact photo giving way to his bright, sunny grin.

“Atsumu-san!” he beamed, and Atsumu felt the serotonin being injected directly into his veins.

“Hey, Shouyou-kun,” he said, smiling. Hinata was lounging on the couch in what looked like the common room at the Jackals’ dorm, tucked comfortably in an old Fukurodani sweatshirt (stolen from Bokuto, who claimed he was “too absolutely fucking jacked” for it to fit anymore).

“We’ve missed you around here!” he told Atsumu. “How are you? You look tired. And how’s Osamu-san?”

Atsumu sighed. “I am tired, but I’m alright. ‘Samu’s doing better, too.” He did not elaborate; he kind of didn’t want to talk about Osamu. Sue him. “What’re ya up to?”

“Well right now I’m watching Bokuto-san play Smash with Kenma.” Hinata’s eyes left the screen and roved over somewhere to the left. “Buuut he’s getting destroyed.”

In the background, Bokuto groaned. “How is he so  _ good _ at  _ every game _ ?!”

“He gets paid to be good, Bokuto-san.”

Atsumu laughed. “Hang in there, Bokkun!” he called.

Hinata eyed Atsumu through the screen. “This is the third or fourth different game Kenma’s challenged him to just this afternoon alone,” he stage-whispered conspiratorially. “He knows he’ll win, and I think he just gets some kind of sick satisfaction out of it.”

“Doesn’t that make ya an enabler, Shou-kun?”

Hinata shrugged. “It’s fun to watch, so I don’t mind. Besides, it’s harmless. I hope. Here.” He sat up and swung around so he was facing forward on the couch. He panned the camera over so Bokuto was visible with a constipated look on his face, tongue sticking out in concentration. “Say hi to Atsumu-san.”

Bokuto’s eyes flicked over to the phone for only a brief moment before they were back on the TV, but his demeanor seemed to brighten anyway. “Hey! Tsum-Tsum! How’s Myaa-sam?”

“He’s okay. Doing better. You?”

“Sad you’re not around.” Bokuto pouted. “Say, Keiji keeps asking about the shop. I told him Myaa-sam was okay but that I didn’t know much else. I dunno if you know this but the news is kind of everywhere. It’s sort of a big deal.”

Atsumu sighed heavily and rubbed at his weary eyes with his free hand. “I’ve been trying to avoid all of it. Honestly I dunno what’s gonna happen. I haven’t even seen the place for myself, the fire department ain’t lettin’ me or anybody take a look until they finish their investigation.”

“It’ll all work out, Atsumu-san!” Hinata piped up. “We’ll all help you figure it out!”

Atsumu smiled softly. “Thanks, man.” Feeling anxiety bubbling in his chest, he quickly stamped it out with a subject change as Bokuto went back to his losing battle with world-famous Kodzuken. “How’s practice been?”

“Not the same without you!” He lowered his voice. “Omi-san’s been acting reeeaaal touchy since you’ve been gone. I think he’s pissed.”

As if on cue, a familiar serious voice piped up in the background, “What are you two doing?”

Hinata glanced over to where Atsumu knew the doorway was and answered, “Talking to Atsumu-san,” at the same time that Bokuto said, “Avenging my own death in battle.”

Sakusa ignored Bokuto and stepped into frame beside Hinata, with only his legs visible. Blessedly, it didn’t seem like he’d heard their previous conversation. Hinata was looking up at him with a mix of amusement and fear, and then a hand reached down and the video started to blur.

“Give me that,” Sakusa muttered. Hinata yelped in protest in the background as the camera shifted to focus on Sakusa’s stony expression, but it was all for naught as Sakusa kidnapped virtual-Atsumu and stepped into the communal kitchen.

_ Oh no, _ Atsumu thought.

“Miya.”

“Ah, Omi-kun, so good to talk to you!” Atsumu said, feigning innocence to either get a rise out of Sakusa or hopefully save his own ass, whichever happened first.

“I literally told you to call Meian. I told you so many times.”

“I know.”

“You also haven’t texted me.”

“I meant to! Ya could have texted me!”

“I was giving you space, moron.”

“Well, I took it!”

Sakusa visibly bristled. “Look, Miya, you can’t just not contact people when you--”

Atsumu groaned, loudly and dramatically on purpose. “Oh my god, Omi, I knooooow,” he huffed, shaking the camera forward and backward for emphasis. “I know this is just yer fucked up overbearing way of caring, but I’ve had a lot on my plate, so could ya lay off for once?”

A beat passed. Then Sakusa sighed and muttered, “Sorry.”

“S’fine,” Atsumu mumbled. “Thanks for that night, by the way. Drivin’ me out to Kobe, leavin’ me food, all that stuff. I never thanked ya.”

“Don’t mention it.” Sakusa paused. “I’m going to give Hinata his phone back, but first: are you okay? Is Osamu okay? Sorry, I should have led with that instead of lecturing you.”

Atsumu shrugged. “Like I said, lot on my plate. But I’m gettin’ by. And ‘Samu’s doing better, so I’m doing better.”

“Good.” Sakusa nodded, the faint crease in his eyebrows smoothing out almost imperceptibly. Then he waltzed back into the common room and dropped Hinata’s phone into his lap. Hinata, with his amazing reflexes, caught it before it could make a painful crash landing.

“Was that necessary, Omi-san?” he grumbled.

“No,” Sakusa answered, settling in beside him on the couch. Hinata adjusted the camera so all three of them were visible side by side, Bokuto looking forlorn as it seemed his mission to avenge himself had not gone well.

Atsumu couldn’t help the wave of affection that sprouted in his chest. “God, I miss ya guys.”

“Aww, we miss you too, Tsum-Tsum!” Bokuto leaned his head down on Hinata’s shoulder to see better.

Atsumu felt Osamu’s presence beside him before he appeared in the frame from the ribs down, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie. He looked up at his twin’s blank expression.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m hungry,” Osamu said.

“Then eat yer pudding then, asshole, Ma bought ya like five boxes.”

“Is that Osamu-san?” Hinata’s voice piped up, distant and tinny from the phone speaker.

Not breaking eye contact with his brother, Atsumu nodded toward the phone and said, “Ain’t ya gonna say hi?”

“Who?” Osamu mumbled, bending down so his face became visible on screen. “Oh. Hi, guys.”

“Hey, Myaa-sam!” Bokuto cheered.

With a smirk, Sakusa said, “Hey, Osamu-kun, if Atsumu is holding you hostage blink twice and we’ll come rescue you.”

Like the traitorous bastard he was, Osamu blinked twice.

Atsumu elbowed him in the ribs--not hard enough to spark a coughing fit, he wasn’t that cruel--and feigned offense as his teammates laughed at his expense.

“I do so much for ya and  _ this _ is the thanks I get?” he whined. Osamu simply stuck his tongue out at him and went to retrieve his pudding from the fridge. Atsumu turned his attention back to his teammates and said, “See, ‘Samu’s got his vocal tract all fucked up from smoke and shit, so he ain’t supposed to talk much until it heals, and it’s the biggest blessing of my life.”

Osamu glared daggers at him from the other side of the kitchen. He dug his phone out of his pocket and swiped angrily at it for a moment. Then came that familiar robotic voice, “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.”

Atsumu gaped. “Delete that fuckin’ app, ‘Samu!”

His teammates laughed some more, and Osamu merely grinned in delight as he continued pressing the button repeatedly. This was love, Atsumu decided, and his chest felt a little lighter for it.


	6. Carrots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yer cutting those wrong.”
> 
> OR: It's not about the carrots, but maybe the carrots were the last straw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Osamu goes into a bit more detail about the fire here! It's brief, but I just wanted to put that out there in case anyone is sensitive to that!

“Yer cutting those wrong.”

Atsumu paused in slicing the carrots in front of him to glare at his brother. “What the hell do ya mean I’m doing it wrong?”

“Those’re too big, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu commanded, still somewhat hoarsely, from the kitchen table. “Cut ‘em smaller. Smaller.”

“Look, if I’m the one cookin’, I’ll cut my carrots how I want.” Atsumu resumed his slow and unpracticed movements. The knife’s blade clattered noisily against the wooden cutting board; it echoed in the quiet kitchen, punctuated by Osamu’s sniffles. Wait, sniffles?

Atsumu whipped his head around. Osamu had his face hidden in the hand of his good arm, elbow propped on the table. His shoulders were shaking.

“Shit. ‘Samu?” Hastily, Atsumu set the knife down on the counter and wiped his hands on the kitchen towel before scrambling beside his brother. He pulled out one of the other chairs and placed a hand on Osamu’s shoulder; Osamu shook him off. “Hey. ‘Samu, c’mon. I’ll cut the carrots how ya told me, okay? Just stop cryin’.”

Osamu honest-to-god sobbed.

“S’not about the fuckin’  _ carrots _ , you idiot!” he cried. “I can’t fucking take this anymore! Everything I worked for got destroyed, and here I am! I-- I don’t even know what to do an’ I can’t even think about it, ‘cuz, like, all I see in my dreams is those fucking flames, swallowing me up. I-- I wasn’t even in the kitchen when it started, we evacuated, I coulda been  _ fine _ . But I went back in, and the flames just got  _ bigger _ , and I couldn’t get back to the door, and then I couldn’t breathe, and I fell. I was just layin’ there, Atsumu. I thought I was gonna die.”

Atsumu swallowed the horror creeping up his throat as well as the urge to wrap his arms around his brother and squeeze until all the pain went away. Instead he reached out for Osamu’s shoulders again, and this time there was no resistance.

“Osamu, hey. Can ya look at me?”

Osamu shook his head, another round of sobs wracking his frame. Atsumu’s chest ached; his brother was big and tall, and he could deadlift big bags of rice like they were nothing. But somehow, he looked very small, curling in on himself like a frightened creature. Atsumu squeezed his shoulders.

“Hey, yer gonna be just fine, alright? I’m gonna figure it all out. I promise I’m gonna help ya. Yer not alone, ‘Samu. I’m gonna take care of ya. For as long as it takes.”

“But I don’t--” Osamu started hiccuping. “-- _ want _ ya to--” He broke off, words getting choked by a fit of painful, wheezy coughs. His chest heaved as he struggled to take in air, tipping forward to lean his forehead against Atsumu’s chest.

“Woah, hey, come on.” Atsumu tried to steady his own heart rate. “Ya gotta breathe, man.”

Wheezing, Osamu reached into the pocket of his sweatshirt and pulled out the emergency inhaler his doctor had prescribed. Within another minute or so, he was calming down, breathing evenly. He lifted his head and looked Atsumu in the eyes, tear-tracked face still red.

“I just don’t like the idea of relyin’ on anyone.” His voice sounded like gravel. “Ya shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

Atsumu wiped the tears from Osamu’s cheek with the pad of his thumb and earned a half-hearted swat for his efforts.

“Well, hate to break it to ya, ‘Samu, but that’s how family works. I’m yer big bro, of course I’m gonna look out fer ya.”

Osamu grimaced. “Yer only a few minutes older than me, asshole.”

Atsumu laughed at that, and when Osamu chuckled in response, Atsumu knew he’d won. Deciding to test the waters, he asked, “Do ya wanna tell me what ya ran back in there for?”

Osamu hesitated, swiping at his tears with the end of his sleeve. “The old photo album,” he admitted with a sniffle. “The one with all the family pictures and Gran’s recipes in it. I kept it in a drawer at the counter.”

“That’s sweet, ‘Samu, but yer the biggest idiot alive.”

“Ma doesn’t even know I had it, I don’t think. I dunno how to tell her it’s gone ‘cuz of me.”

Atsumu flicked his brother in the forehead. “Hello, earth to stupid ‘Samu!” he shouted. “We’re all just glad yer  _ alive _ , dumbass! None of that other shit matters! Quit focusin’ on what coulda been and focus on getting better!”

“...Fine.”

“Okay?”

Osamu nodded. He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. “I’m gonna take a shower. Sorry for bein’ an idiot.” He headed off toward the bathroom.

“Yeah, whatever. Hey,” Atsumu called after him, making him turn on his heels. “I love ya, scrub.”

Osamu smiled softly and huffed a quiet laugh. “Love ya too, dumbass.”

Once he was out of sight, Atsumu resumed cooking dinner. He cut up the carrots extra small, just for Osamu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's so short!! Later chapters should be somewhat longer, I think?


	7. A mother's love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mama Miya sighed. Her boys were 23, not 13, right? She hadn’t dreamt the last ten years?
> 
> OR: A family dinner is an act of love, even if it comes from a box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to give a quick thanks to all of you who have been reading, commenting, and giving kudos for the last few days! My other fics (though they may be few) haven't gotten this kind of response so I was really pleasantly surprised!
> 
> The next chapter is a longer one, but for now: it's Mama Miya time!

Mama Miya got home from work some time just after dark. She toed off her shoes in the doorway and set down her bag, glancing around at the quiet house; the lights were off, save for the lamp in the kitchen that Atsumu had always forgotten to turn off. She heard the faintest snoring and followed it to the living room, where she found both her boys fast asleep--Atsumu seated with one arm draped protectively over his brother, and Osamu laying with his head resting on a pillow in Atsumu’s lap. The TV was on, displaying the blank DVD menu screen.

Atsumu heard her enter the room and blinked awake, rubbing at his eyes.

“Hey, Ma,” he whispered.

Mama Miya perched herself on the arm of the sofa and brushed Atsumu’s bangs aside gently. He smiled and leaned instinctively into the touch, face bathed in the glow of the TV.

“Hi, honey, everything okay?” she asked.

Atsumu hummed. “Yeah, we were watchin’ an old movie and ‘Samu decided to take a nap. Guess I dozed off too.”

“Did ya have dinner?”

As if in response, Atsumu’s stomach growled. “Shit, no,” he whispered. “I was gonna make it, but I fell asleep.” Beneath his arm, Osamu stirred, tension forming creases in his forehead. Atsumu rubbed his back in a soothing motion until he settled again, calm and still.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” Mama Miya whispered. “I’ll make us all something.”

“No, Mama,” Atsumu protested. “Ya were workin’ all day. I don’t wantcha to have to cook too.”

Mama Miya sighed, but smiled. “Okay, why don’t I just order something?”

Atsumu nodded, satisfied. Even in the mostly-dark, his mother could see the bags under his bleary eyes, too heavy for someone who had just spent at least a couple hours asleep. She frowned, running her hand through his hair.

“Why don’t we go talk in the kitchen?” she suggested. “Let yer brother get his rest.”

Relenting, Atsumu carefully shifted out from underneath his brother and resituated him on the couch, pulling their grandmother’s old quilt up over his shoulders. He stalked off to the bathroom while Mama Miya placed their usual pizza order, and then she sat him across from her at the kitchen table. He looked bone-tired, and it made her heart ache.

“Atsu, have you been sleeping?” she asked gently.

“Not well,” Atsumu said, because he knew lying to her was never an option. “Sometimes it’s ‘cuz Osamu’s havin’ nightmares, other times I just can’t sleep.”

“Look, dear, I know how worried ya are and I know how much ya care about your brother--”

“He just seems so depressed, Ma. I don’t know how to help ‘im.”

“I know, baby. I know. But ya have to take care of yourself too, okay? Remember that the only person askin’ ya to be here is you.”

Atsumu gaped. “Well, I’m not just gonna walk away from him, a-and--”

Mama Miya hushed him. “I know, and I’m not askin’ ya to. I’m just sayin’ that ya don’t have to shoulder the responsibility of gettin’ Osamu back on his feet all on yer own. And I’m sure he’s told ya the same.”

“He has.” Atsumu smiled, rubbing at his eyes.

“Listen, Atsumu, tomorrow is my day off. Why don’t ya take some time for yourself?”

He nodded. “Okay,” he said softly.

  
  


When the pizza arrived, Osamu padded into the kitchen, looking positively exhausted. His hair was a mess, crew neck sweatshirt wrinkled from sleep. He was pale and bleary-eyed, and Mama Miya felt a sickening guilt pool in her stomach for not being home more often.

“I smelled food,” Osamu mumbled, rubbing his eye. Then, belatedly, he seemed to notice his mother. “Hi, Ma.”

“Hi, Osamu, sit,” she said. Atsumu was rifling through the cabinets for paper plates, pointedly ignoring his brother.

Osamu glanced at him. “What’s his problem?”

“He’s just embarrassed because he’s worried about ya.”

Atsumu whipped his head around. “Ma!” he whined like a petulant toddler. He passed a plate to his mother and used another to smack his brother upside the head.

“Atsumu!” Mama Miya scolded half-heartedly at the same moment that Osamu grumbled, “What the fuck, ‘Tsumu?”

Atsumu merely stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry. In response, Osamu swung a leg out and kicked his older brother in the shin.

“Ow, ‘Samu!”

Mama Miya sighed. Her boys were 23, not 13, right? She hadn’t dreamt the last ten years?

“Alright, boys, that’s enough!” she said, slapping the table twice for emphasis. “Settle down and eat yer dinner.”

Thankfully, the twins obliged, likely too tired to keep at it for very long. Atsumu sat down beside his brother and they dug into the pizza with fervor. Atsumu’s team nutritionist would not be happy to know how he’d been eating, his mother knew, but she figured what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.

It dawned on her, clear and bright as a summer’s day, that this was the first time the three of them had sat down to a family dinner together in a very long time. She eyed them fondly as they wolfed down their food, occasionally jostling one another with their elbows or knocking their shoulders together with goofy smiles and familiar glints in their tired eyes. With time, Mama Miya knew, they would both be just fine. She took another bite of pizza and smiled.


	8. Always a hair's breadth ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In everything, they had always been there for each other, pushing one another with just the right balance of support and provocation.
> 
> OR: Osamu learns to accept help. Atsumu learns to take his own goddamn advice.

Contrary to her word, Atsumu’s mother overslept on Saturday, exhausted from overworking herself. Atsumu slept in as well, finally waking well into the morning when the sun was already high in the sky. He could hear Osamu in the shower, so he decided to take a run around the neighborhood--he needed to stay in shape, and that counted as taking time for himself, right?

And  _ god _ , how Atsumu had missed the crisp, clean air of his hometown. Osaka was familiar, and it was lively, but it was never the same. When he and Osamu were kids, they would race each other to the konbini down the street and back; Osamu would usually win, not because he was faster (Atsumu still firmly believed  _ he _ was the faster twin) but because whenever snacks were involved, he was always going to be the victor. Osamu was the scrappier of the two as well, slower to start a fight but quicker to end one. He was just a smidge taller than Atsumu as well, and lorded it over him for years. In many ways, Osamu had always been just a hair’s breadth ahead of his brother. The constant competition made them both hunger for more, to be more successful, to be the happier twin. Even now, in the nostalgic streets of his hometown, Atsumu still felt himself running just a little bit slower without Osamu alongside him. In everything, they had always been there for each other, pushing one another with just the right balance of support and provocation. Atsumu just hoped Osamu could be happy; he didn’t want to die the happier twin if this is what it felt like.

The revelation hit him like a truck. Atsumu stopped in his tracks, breath forming clouds of fog in the chilly morning air. He couldn’t be happy unless Osamu was, and he assumed the inverse was true as well. Ideas percolating through his mind, Atsumu pulled out his cell phone and called Suna.

_ “What, loser?” _

“Sunarin! Ya could stand to be nicer to me in my time of need!”

Suna huffed into the receiver.  _ “Bold words for someone who barely answers his phone anymore. We’re all trying to help, you know.” _

“I’m  _ sorry! _ ” Atsumu whined. Everyone was really coming for his ass about the damn phone! “I was tryin’ to handle everything on my own because I’m a big dumb idiot but I’m over that now. So are ya gonna help me or what?”

_ “What is it you need?” _

“Osamu’s gotten all depressed and in his own head about losing the shop and I wanna cheer ‘im up. I’ve got an idea for a little project of sorts. I need all you guys to help.”

_ “Say no more,”  _ Suna said.  _ “But listen, Atsumu, have you been keeping up with the news on social media? A bunch of people have been talking about it. Not just local, either--word spreads fast when you have pro sports connections, I guess.” _

“So I’ve heard. But nah, I’ve been ignorin’ social media even more than I’ve been ignorin’ yer calls.”

Suna ignored the dig.  _ “Dude, people probably think you’re fucking dead. You’ve gotta say something.” _

“What are ya, my PR director? Besides, that’s all part of the plan.”

_ “Sure it is.” _

“Shut yer trap, Sunarin!”

* * *

  
  


When Atsumu returned, optimistic and energized, he found Osamu pacing in circles around the entire house, phone pressed to his ear as he spoke frantically to whoever was on the other line. Atsumu untied his shoes and watched from the front door as his brother circled the entire first floor once, twice, three times, looking and sounding more and more frazzled each time he reappeared. He headed to the bathroom to take a Speed Shower (the spiritual sworn nemesis of Sakusa’s Extended Showers) and shuffled into a pair of pants and a sweater before the situation outside the bathroom could devolve any further.

Atsumu stepped out of the bathroom and searched the entire house for Osamu. He eventually found him with his head buried in his arms; Atsumu slid open the back door and crossed the porch in his socks to sit beside his brother on the stoop.

“Hey, ‘Samu.” He knocked their shoulders together. “Is Ma still asleep?”

Osamu hummed in confirmation. “She found me running around checking all the plugs last night. Don’t think she slept great.”

“Ah.” Atsumu placed a hand on the arm perched on Osamu’s knee, jostling him. “Who was on the phone?”

Osamu did not respond.

“‘Samu. Hey.”

Osamu turned his head, temple pressed into his arm; he looked at Atsumu with a glazed-over expression, eyes sullen.

“Fire marshal called,” he whispered. “The stove must’ve malfunctioned, and caught on fire. The place will have to be gutted.”

“Shit.” Atsumu ran a hand through Osamu’s hair; it was still slightly damp from his shower. “Insurance will cover all the damages, though, right?”

Osamu shrugged. “Probably. Does it matter? Everything’s already ruined anyway.”

“C’mon, man, ya can’t look at it that way. I told ya I’d figure it out, didn’t I? All ya gotta do is let me. We talked about this, remember?”

Osamu’s head popped up, expression sour. “ _ You _ ?” he asked incredulously. “Yer sayin’ I should just let ya clean up my mess for me? No thanks.”

Atsumu sighed. “It ain’t like that, ‘Samu, I’m just tryin’ to help ya so ya don’t wig out.”

“Ya don’t have to treat me like a child, ‘Tsumu! I’m a fuckin’ adult and ya should just focus on yer own stupid life and leave me be. I’ll do it all myself and everyone will say ‘Gee, we’re all so proud of Osamu,’ or I’ll fail miserably and you’ll just gloat about how ya were right all along until the day we die. I don’t care either way so long as it gets you to stop fucking lookin’ at me like that.”

“Like how?” Atsumu reached for his brother’s arm again in the hopes of grounding him, but Osamu jerked away.

“Like I’m some fragile thing that’s gonna shatter if ya ain’t careful. I don’t need yer fuckin’ help and I sure as hell don’t need ya to coddle me.”

“I ain’t coddling ya, I’m just tryin’ to support ya, dickhead!”

“God, just shut the  _ fuck _ up, Atsumu!” Osamu shouted.

“No!” Atsumu shouted right back. “Ya don’t get to lash out at me just ‘cuz yer feelin’ bad, asshole. It doesn’t work like that.”

Osamu’s mouth snapped shut. He glanced down at his shaking hands and clenched his fists, then unclenched them, and repeated the motion several times until Atsumu started speaking again.

“Coddling you--God, look, ‘Samu, I’m gonna be frank with ya, since that’s what ya want so bad,” he said. “If talking about this makes ya this anxious, then ya actually  _ can’t _ do this on yer own. And there’s nothin’ wrong with that. I know you’ve never trusted me a goddamn day in our lives, but yer gonna have to remove that stick up yer ass and put some fucking faith in me, just this once.”

Osamu muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I said I do trust you.” Osamu’s fists resumed their rhythmic motion. He worried his bottom lip with his canine. “I’m just… scared.”

“I know ya are.” Atsumu knocked their shoulders together. “Say, can we take a picture for Instagram? So I can prove yer alive since we both went radio silent?”

Osamu gave him a deadpan expression, eyes drooping. “Are ya seriously askin’ me to take a selfie with ya while I’m comin’ down from an anxious meltdown about my life falling apart? Really, Atsumu?”

“That is what I’m doing, yes,” Atsumu said, unwavering. “So can we?”

Osamu sighed. “Ya know what, fine. Why not. But I’m not redownloading Instagram.”

Giddy, Atsumu pulled out his phone and opened the front camera. He grinned at the camera while Osamu threw up a peace sign with his bad hand and fixed the back of Atsumu’s head with an unamused expression behind him. While Osamu readjusted his wrist brace beside him, Atsumu opened Instagram to post the photo, completely ignoring his many notifications and the other posts on his feed. Before posting it and linking it to his Twitter, he tagged the official Onigiri Miya account and wrote out a caption:

> **_@miyatsumu:_ ** _ Thank you to everyone who has been sending well wishes and asking about my brother! He’s fine and so am I. I’ve been on hiatus here in Hyogo on big brother duty, so I haven’t been using social media. Please give my family some privacy during this time; updates will come eventually, but until then expect me to be pretty absent from social media. See you all back on the court soon! _

Mama Miya poked her head out the back door, still in her pajamas.

“Are you boys okay?” she asked. “Osamu?”

“I’m fine, Ma,” Osamu said. “Did our shouting wake ya?”

She shook her head. “No, I was up. I just wanted to ask if ya wanted some breakfast.”

“Sure.” Atsumu stood up and reached down to help Osamu to his feet. Osamu, stubborn as ever, did not accept it, and scrambled unsteadily to his feet on wobbly legs before catching himself on Atsumu’s shoulder anyway.

Atsumu’s phone buzzed with a text from Suna. He figured it was probably time for him to start answering those.

> **From: Suna [10:32 AM]**
> 
> _ i’m glad you posted something but why’s it look like you took that pic of osamu while he was in the middle of an anxiety attack _
> 
> **To: Suna [10:32 AM]**
> 
> _ haha about that _
> 
> **From: Suna [10:32 AM]**
> 
> _ you didn’t. _
> 
> _ Atsumu. _
> 
> _ ATSUMU! _

Atsumu chuckled to himself and pocketed his phone, ruffling his brother’s hair as they went inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, at last, things are picking up... Next chapter is another long one and a bit of a doozy, so I hope you're ready!


	9. The Cain Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s the Cain instinct,” Atsumu said.
> 
> OR: Atsumu picks up the phone. Osamu opens up his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Osamu goes into more depth about the fire during this chapter! If you need to skip that, it starts with "Like I told ya" and ends with "Couldn't even find it."

Osamu’s follow-up appointment had the pair driving back into Kobe in Mama Miya’s car, stereo blaring the “miya twins real jams” playlist (a years-old collaborative effort that turned out to be a solid 80% Atsumu--Osamu spent more time trying to rename it to “‘tsumu smells” than he ever did adding songs to it) off of Atsumu’s phone. They stopped at Osamu’s apartment to pick up some things first--which came as a blessing to Atsumu, who now had more of Osamu’s clothes to steal instead of practically living out of his gym bag--and then headed to the hospital. Atsumu stayed in the car, scrolling through the comments on his Instagram post and the Twitter replies without responding to any of them. After a while, he got bored and opened his contacts. He put the phone on bluetooth, a familiar voice pouring out of the car stereo.

_ “It’s good to finally hear from you, Atsumu.” _

Atsumu groaned. “Oh no, Aran-kun, yer not gonna chew me out too, are ya?”

Aran chuckled warmly.  _ “Not this time. I talked to Suna.” _

“So ya already know about my genius plan, then?”

_ “No one ever said ya were a genius. Don’t get ahead of yourself.” _

“But yer still gonna help?”

_ “Of course.”  _ Aran paused for a moment. Then, he asked,  _ “Have ya talked to your old captain lately?” _

Atsumu winced. “Well… he called while ‘Samu was in the hospital and we talked for a minute.”

_ “You should call him, Atsumu. Ya know he’d jump at the chance to help. And I’m sure he’s worried about ya both; he won’t stop telling me as much.” _

“But Aran-kun,” Atsumu groaned, “Kita-san’s got, like, a sixth sense for when I’m not takin’ care of myself. He’ll tear me a new one.”

_ “I don’t know about that.”  _ Aran laughed, then his tone turned dark.  _ “Hey, what’s this about you not taking care of yourself?” _

“Please don’t kill me!”

_ “You’re so stubborn. No one, and I mean no one, benefits from you running yourself ragged, ya hear me? Ya have all of us here willing to help ya any way we can and you’re too pig-headed to take it. You’re not king of the world, Atsumu. You’re not god. You’re just a 23-year-old with a volleyball for a brain and a head too big for his hat.” _

Leave it to Aran to put Atsumu in his place. It was time to play dumb.

“I don’t wear hats, Aran-kun.”

Aran snorted.  _ “Give it a rest. I gotta go, but ya should call me more often. Your brother too, the reckless moron.” _

“Okay. I’ll talk to ya soon,” Atsumu said. “I promise.”

_ “And call Shinsuke!” _

“Fine!” Brusquely, Atsumu hung up the phone and huffed. He glanced around at the parking lot and then at his watch. No Osamu in sight, and still a ways to go. Atsumu stared at the phone like it could sprout wings and sharp fangs and lunge for his throat any minute. Then, finally, he bit the bullet.

The phone rang once, twice, three times, and for a second Atsumu thought he’d get off scot-free, but then:

_ “Hello, Kita speaking.” _

“Hi, Kita-san.”

_ “Atsumu? What’s wrong?” _

Tears welled up in Atsumu’s eyes and threatened to spill over. He sniffled quietly--or so he thought, because Kita only seemed more alarmed.

_ “Atsumu?”  _ he repeated.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Atsumu said, wiping away tears with the back of his sleeve. “Everything is wrong. Osamu’s doing better, and I  _ know _ things’ll be fine with time, but I feel awful and it’s not fair because ‘Samu’s the one who’s got the right to feel awful, not me.”

_ “Take a deep breath for me, Atsumu. I don’t think yer being very fair to yerself.” _

Atsumu whimpered, trying to stop his crying. “What do ya mean?”

_ “Worryin’ about yer brother is perfectly normal. He may have gone through it, but he’s not the only one processin’ what happened. Yer scared because ya had to consider, even for a moment, a world without Osamu, and it terrified ya.” _

Atsumu blinked. He was left feeling, like he so often did when it came to his former captain, like he’d been sliced clean open by the world’s gentlest knife.

_ “But ya have to remember that, like ya said, things are gonna work out okay. He ain’t gonna disappear the moment ya let him out of yer sight.” _

“I know.” Atsumu sniffled, scrubbing at his eyes to get the tears to stop. “Have ya talked to him?”

_ “Not much.”  _ Kita sighed.  _ “If Osamu is up for visitors, I can stop by tomorrow?” _

“Yes please.” Atsumu had to fight off the urge to burst into a fresh round of tears.

_ “Okay. I’ll bring some of whatever Granny bakes; she’s been askin’ after ya. Go calm yerself down and make sure ya get yer proper rest and eat well, alright?” _

“Okay. I will. Thank you, Kita-san. And Granny too.”

_ “Of course. Goodbye, Atsumu.” _

Atsumu hung up and scrubbed vigorously at his face in a feeble attempt to hide the evidence of his crying. He put the playlist back on and leaned back in the driver’s seat, hoping to achieve some sort of inner peace before Osamu came back.

  
  


When Osamu did finally slide into the passenger’s seat, his eyes searched Atsumu’s intentionally hardened expression. His seatbelt clicked and he leaned his elbow on the window, still looking at his brother.

“Why do ya look constipated?”

Atsumu leaned over the center console and tried to strangle his twin. Forget what Sakusa said, all that stuff about “being nice” and “not murdering his brother”. What an impossible standard, when just the sight of Osamu’s stupid face filled him with primal rage.

Osamu batted him away easily. “Chill! I swear yer murderous aura gets stronger by the day.”

“It’s the Cain instinct,” Atsumu said.

“Yeah, okay. Yer only so bold because I’m not in top shape. Soon as I’ve got full use of my right hand, it’s over for ya, and you know it.”

“Whatever.” Atsumu shifted the car into drive and pulled out of his parking space. Then he sniffled.  _ Wait, shit! _

Osamu’s head whipped around at lightning speed; out of the corner of his eye, Atsumu could see his mouth form a little ‘O’ before a knowing grin spread across his big dumb face.

“Hold on,” he said. “Ya were  _ cryin’ _ , weren’t ya?”

“Was not.”

“Were too!” Osamu laughed. “Ya called Kita-san, didn’t ya?”

“Stop! Shut yer trap, ‘Samu!”

Osamu’s laughter only grew louder until he broke off into a sputtering cough. Atsumu glanced at him in his periphery.

“Are you--?”

“I’m good,” Osamu assured him. “The doctor said I’m doing well, actually. She said the brace can come off soon.”

“Yeah? Did ya tell her about the anxiety?”

Osamu hummed. “Yeah. She said all that’s normal, at least at this stage. But she offered to help me find a therapist, if I wanted more counseling.”

“Are ya gonna take her up on that?”

“I haven’t decided.” Osamu turned to the window, propping his chin up on his hand. He pointed out the windshield. “Don’t turn up here. I wanna drive by the shop before we go home.”

Atsumu’s grip tightened where his hands sat perched at ten and two on the wheel. He glanced at Osamu in disbelief. “Are ya sure yer ready for that?”

Osamu nodded. “I’m sure.” Then, hesitantly, “Well, as sure as I’ll ever be.”

“Whatever you say.” With a sigh, Atsumu continued straight before making the turn into the neighborhood where Onigiri Miya was located, in a quieter corner of the city surrounded by other shops and small businesses. He felt Osamu tense beside him as they approached; Atsumu himself was feeling a bit on edge, as he had managed to avoid the worst of the news about the fire and had yet to see the place for himself. The car slowed to a stop out front.

Onigiri Miya was boarded up, the storefront stained black with smoke and soot. It was surrounded by caution tape, but a few bouquets of flowers sat outside, like an offering.

“They put those there like I’m dead,” Osamu mused.

“I think people are just payin’ their respects.”

Osamu hummed and rested both arms on the window before lowering his head onto them. He was quiet for a minute or two, staring out the window at what remained of his business. Atsumu lowered the music to a dull hum, as if out of respect.

“‘Samu?” he prompted after a while. Osamu jolted.

“Sorry, lost in my own head again,” he said. Then he went quiet again, but it was a different sort of quiet, this one less blank and more pensive, as though he were searching for the right words to say.

“Like I told ya, we all evacuated, but I got the bright idea to go back in for that album, and whatever other documents I could grab on my way out. So many people tried to stop me, but no one came after me.” Osamu sighed. “Of course, I got trapped, and I couldn’t even see the exit, the smoke was so thick. And it was so  _ hot _ , every part of me felt like it was burning--my eyes, my nose, my throat. I mean, you saw--I was covered in soot for days.

“I tripped tryin’ to get out, and caught myself on my wrist, which I guess is how I sprained it. It was so hard to breathe, I couldn’t even get up, and I figured my chances were better if I stayed low to the ground anyway. But before I lost consciousness, I really thought I was dying. And I actually thought to myself, for a second, ‘I can’t lose to ‘Tsumu like this,’ and I kinda wished you could have been there to stop me, because I knew you would have tackled me to stop me from goin’ in and saved my life. But now I’m alive, and looking at this place I see that the outcome really is the same anyway. And y’know? I never even got the photo album. Couldn’t even find it.”

Overwhelmed with a dizzying mix of pride, grief, and affection swelling in his chest, Atsumu blurted, “God, ‘Samu, I love ya so much, do ya understand me?” He ignored Osamu’s startled expression when he turned toward his voice. “When Ma called me, I really thought I was gonna lose ya. I was so scared until I saw yer dumb face again.”

“It’s the same face, ‘Tsumu. But I know.” Osamu smiled softly. “Can we go home now? I’m tired.”

Atsumu sniffled wetly and wiped at his eyes before he put the car in drive. “Of course. Anything ya want, ‘Samu, ya can have it, holy fuck.”

“Quit yer cryin’, nerd. Yer an embarrassment.”

“Shut it.”

  
Osamu reached over and turned the volume on the stereo way up, and they drove onward, Atsumu definitely  _ not _ crying at least half the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of posting this chapter, I've caught up to where I'm currently finished writing, so I might not upload a second chapter tonight. Stay tuned!


	10. Old habits die hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no reason for Atsumu to feel restless--yet here he was, wilting like a guilty schoolkid under his former captain’s watchful gaze. Old habits die hard.
> 
> OR: Kita comes to visit. It's not one of Osamu's better days, but Kita once watched them beat the shit out of each other over the last yogurt in the vending machine, so really, it's not a total loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone else see the new cover illustration Furudate did of the twins in the running poses? I am emotional. Seeing that fueled me to finish this chapter before bed.

“Are ya  _ sure _ yer up for visitors? I can call Kita-san and tell him not to come.”

“I’m sure. Now go away.”

Atsumu tilted his head back toward the ceiling. “‘Samu, yer literally burrowed into yer blankets right now.”

Osamu was currently cocooned in the armchair, wrapped up like a burrito with the blankets over his head. He’d been like that most of the day; the most progress Atsumu’d made was getting him to move from his bed to the living room.

“I’m hidin’ from my problems,” he said, like it made sense. “If I leave my cocoon, I will start thinking, and if I start thinking, I will get stressed out. So if ya need something, leave a message with my secretary, or in other words, shove it.”

Atsumu released a sigh. “Ya had such a good day yesterday.”

“Yeah, and? Balance is being restored to the universe.” If it was possible, Osamu nestled even deeper into his mountain of blankets. “I’m tired. Goodnight.”

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

“Good _ night _ , Atsumu.”

“Fine.” Atsumu huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, not that Osamu could even see him. “But ya have to be nice to Kita-san when he gets here.”

“Fine. Now piss off.”

* * *

  
  


When Atsumu opened the door to be greeted by Kita’s face, he nearly started crying all over again.

“Kita-san,” he said, shoulders dropping. “It’s good to see ya.”

“Hello, Atsumu.” Kita held out a tupperware container. “Granny baked some cookies yesterday, and she sent these over. She insists that ya hang on to the container.”

“Tell her thanks.” Atsumu stepped aside. “Coming in?”

Kita nodded and entered the house, muttering a greeting to the empty hallway before reaching down to remove his shoes.

“I’ll warn ya,” Atsumu said in a low voice, “Osamu’s not havin’ a very good day. He’s pretty grumpy. But he told me not to cancel on ya.”

Kita smiled. “That’s perfectly fine, Atsumu. I don’t expect him to be at his best for my sake. I’m just checkin’ up on ya both.”

Atsumu brought the cookies with him as he led Kita down the hall to the living room, in the hopes that they might entice Osamu out of his cave. He poked his head into the room and saw just the top of Osamu’s hair sticking out of his blanket burrito, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“He’s asleep,” he told Kita with a sigh, resolve wavering. “I know I should wake him, but…”

Kita placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let him sleep. I don’t mind. We can talk just the two of us for a bit.”

Atsumu nodded and let himself be guided into the kitchen in his own home (well, his mother’s house). “Do ya want tea? I can make tea.”

“Tea would be lovely.” Kita pulled out one of the dining chairs and sat down.

He could feel Kita’s eyes on him as he busied himself rummaging through the cupboards for his mother’s kettle and the old tea set their late grandpa had made. There was no reason for Atsumu to feel restless--yet here he was, wilting like a guilty schoolkid under his former captain’s watchful gaze. Old habits die hard.

“Atsumu,” Kita said. Atsumu whipped his head around to look at him. “Relax.”

“Right,” Atsumu yelped, voice rising in pitch. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Remember what I told ya yesterday on the phone?”

“Worryin’ is normal. Right, sorry.”

A chuckle escaped Kita’s lips. “Stop apologizing.”

“S-- Okay.” Atsumu set the kettle on the stove to boil before dropping into the chair across from Kita. He rubbed at his eyes and sighed. “I feel like I’m jugglin’ a lot right now.”

“Yer takin’ charge of the rebuilding, aren’t ya?”

Atsumu nodded. “More or less, where ‘Samu will let me. Did Suna tell ya that?”

Kita shook his head. “Aran did. But don’t let yerself get too worked up about it--we’re all gonna help ya.”

“I know. To be honest I think I just need more sleep. And more exercise.”

Kita hummed in displeasure. “Ya need to take care of yerself, Atsumu. That always has to come first. To do otherwise is reckless, and it’s immature.”

“I know. I’m tryin’.”

“I know ya are.”

When the kettle began to whistle, Atsumu turned off the burner and poured the hot water into the teapot to steep. Before he sat down, he heard tell-tale rustling and labored breathing coming from the other room and felt his stomach drop down to his toes.

“That’s ‘Samu. Bad dream, probably. I’m sorry, I’ll be right back,” he told Kita with what he hoped was a sufficiently apologetic expression before disappearing around the corner.

Osamu was tossing and turning violently in his sleep, the mountain of blankets tangling around his limbs in a complicated web of misery. If the creases in his forehead weren’t enough of an indicator that he was having a nightmare, the rapid rise and fall of his chest was a dead giveaway. Atsumu hurried over and leaned over the side of the armchair, placing his hands on either side of his brother’s shoulders and gently jostling him.

“C’mon, ‘Samu,” he said. “Hey, wake up. It’s just a dream.”

Osamu’s eyes flew open and he froze mid-thrash, chest heaving with every breath.

“It’s just me,” Atsumu whispered. “It was just a bad dream.”

A beat passed, during which Osamu just stared at his brother, eyes like saucers. Then, he rasped, “My inhaler.”

“Where is it?” Atsumu pushed up to his feet. “Our room?” When Osamu nodded, he darted off into the twins’ shared bedroom and scoured the place until he found Osamu’s emergency inhaler lying on the desk. He grabbed it and brought it back to his brother. Osamu accepted it graciously and soon he was breathing at least a little easier, though every rapid breath still came out ragged and raw. After a moment, he reached both arms out in a silent plea. Atsumu damn near knocked the wind out of him, with the speed at which he came crashing into his brother on the armchair, barely managing to squeeze in beside him. He held Osamu tight, feeling his pulse beat frantically out of his ribcage.

“Yer okay,” he whispered. “Yer alright.”

Osamu’s shuddering breaths rattled Atsumu’s bones, but they eventually began to even out, and frenetic heart rate started to calm down. Atsumu simply hugged him with as much force as was justifiable and waited for him to relax. When Osamu finally stopped shaking, Atsumu became acutely aware of the fact that Kita had been waiting in the kitchen the entire time.

“Kita-san’s here, by the way,” he mumbled. Osamu broke free from his grasp and gave him a sour expression. “Hey, don’t be like that. Ya said you’d be nice.”

“This is embarrassing. Pretend I fell asleep again.” Osamu stuck his socked foot out from the piled-up detritus of his former blanket nest and tried to kick Atsumu off of the armchair (which would have been reasonable, considering they didn’t exactly fit--if Osamu wasn’t an ungrateful bastard).

“Nope!” Atsumu shifted and grabbed Osamu by the arms. He slung them over his shoulders and hoisted his twin onto his back against his will. Osamu protested weakly, clearly not willing to put up much of a fight but determined to make things as difficult for Atsumu as possible.

“I hate ya,” he mumbled. “Put me down, ya bastard.”

“I will put ya down,” Atsumu said matter-of-factly as he carried him away. “In the kitchen.”

If Kita was at all surprised by the arrangement, it didn’t show on his face when the twins entered the room and Atsumu deposited Osamu in one of the chairs. He smiled softly at them when Atsumu adjusted the blanket--the only surviving remains of Osamu’s once magnificent cocoon--around Osamu and patted both his shoulders roughly for emphasis. Then Kita merely watched as Atsumu wordlessly poured out the (now very strong, and a little cold) tea into three matching teacups, pressed one of Granny’s cookings into Osamu’s hand, and ruffled his hair before sitting back in his own chair. The murderous rage that was sure to have run through Osamu’s mind was quelled only by the fact that there was a snack in his hand, and, in his half-delirious state, he bit down on it without another word.

“It’s good to see ya, Osamu,” Kita finally said.

Osamu blinked at him. “Sorry, Kita-san.”

Kita shook his head. “Don’t apologize. I came to see ya because Atsumu was worried about ya.”

Atsumu made a pointed effort to look at anything in the room besides Osamu’s face. Kita was a traitor (not that Atsumu would ever, in a million years, say that out loud). Osamu, for his part, smirked like he had any room to act tough.

“Was he now?” Osamu swallowed the last of his cookie.

“I’m not laughing, Osamu,” Kita urged. Osamu quieted quickly, straightening up in his chair. “Ya had me worried, too. And not because we’re somethin’ like business partners. I don’t care about that. I was worried because I consider ya a dear friend.”

If Osamu were a stupid crybaby like Atsumu, he may have teared up. But he wasn’t (really, he swears), so he kept it together. Just barely.

“I didn’t mean to worry ya, Kita-san,” he said. “I’m okay, mostly, I think. Today is not so great, but I think I’m doin’ better. I promise.”

“Ya don’t have to promise me--”

Kita was cut off by the sound of Atsumu’s cell phone vibrating so violently that it jumped and slid along the tabletop. Atsumu smiled sheepishly before his eyes landed on the caller ID and his face fell. It was Foster.

“ _ Shit _ , it’s Coach, I need to take this,” he said, snatching it off the table and hurrying to scramble out of the room. “Sorry! Again!” he called over his shoulder.

He swiped to accept the call and braced himself. “Hello?”

_ “Hello, Atsumu, this is Samson Foster.” _

“Hey, Coach. What can I do for ya?” Atsumu tried to play it cool. He hadn’t spoken to Foster since leaving Osaka--Meian had handled all their communications personally, because he was a king and a god and a legend.

_ “Please, where are my manners. How is your family situation?” _

“Oh, my brother’s doing a lot better. He’s letting me take the lead on getting his shop up and running again, so I’ve been having a lot of help with that from some friends.”

_ “That’s good to hear. Send him my best, won’t you?” _

“Of course, sir.”

_ “Now, there’s the matter of you returning to training.”  _ There was a rustle as Foster shifted the phone from one ear to the other.  _ “I won’t force you to return until you’re able, and your contract with the team isn’t in jeopardy or anything like that.” _

Atsumu couldn’t help but sigh with relief.

_ “However, as you know, we do have some games coming up. Now, I want you to be at those games, as I’m sure you do as well. But it’s only fair that if you aren’t able to attend practice, I will put in our reserve setter for the time being.” _

“Got it, Coach, I--” Atsumu sighed. “I want to be back. I want to play at those games. I can try to be back in a few days? Things are just a bit crazy and I need to check with my family.”

_ “There is no rush, Atsumu,”  _ Foster said.  _ “If you will be too distracted to play at your best anyway, I don’t see the point. The decision is yours; I just need to know so I can do what’s best for the team to give us a fair shot in the upcoming games.” _

“I understand. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

_ “I appreciate that. Take care, Atsumu-kun.” _

“Bye, Coach.” Atsumu hung up the phone and stalked back into the kitchen, attempting to be inconspicuous.

At the sight of him, Osamu declared, “‘Tsumu, if ya let yerself get benched at a crucial part of the season just to stay here and watch me sit on my ass all day, I will kill ya. I will straight up go back in time and eat ya in the womb, I swear on my life and yers.”

Atsumu huffed. “I just feel bad leavin’ ya here. Ma ain’t around most of the day, what if ya need something?”

“I’m perfectly alright on my own.”

“Really, ‘Samu?” Atsumu gestured at his brother’s current state.

A murderous glint flashed in Osamu’s eyes. “I will be  _ fine _ .”

Kita chimed in, “Yer always welcome to stay with me for a bit, Osamu.”

Both twins turned to stare at him--it was a bit eerie.

“Ya mean that, Kita-san?” asked Atsumu.

“It’s really no trouble at all.” Kita turned his gaze to Osamu. “I think that stepping away for a while could be good for ya, Osamu, to let everyone else handle things. Ya need rest, but ya also need routine. Ya need somethin’ that isn’t wallowing here alone all day waitin’ for things to be fixed. Besides, Granny would love to see ya, I’m sure.”

Osamu looked uncertain.

Kita held up his hands placatingly. “It’s yer choice, I don’t mean to pressure ya at all. I’m just offerin’. Just think about it.”

The front door opened with the jingling of keys, and Mama Miya called out, “Boys, I’m home!”

“In the kitchen, Ma,” Atsumu called back.

Mama Miya entered a moment later, fresh out of work. Her eyes lit up when she saw Kita. “Ah, Shinsuke-kun! It’s good to see ya.”

Kita smiled warmly back at her. “Same to you, Miya-san. I hope I’m not imposin’ on ya.”

“Not at all, dear! It’s always a pleasure to have ya. Why don’t ya stay for dinner?” Mama Miya crossed the kitchen and planted a hand on Osamu’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Ah, I should actually be going,” Kita said. “But I appreciate the offer.”

As Kita prepared to leave, Atsumu met him at the front door.

“Thank you, Kita-san,” he said.

Kita tilted his head, draping his windbreaker over his shoulders without putting his arms through the sleeves. “What for?”

Atsumu shrugged. “Everything.”

Kita chuckled. “That’s quite the loaded answer,” he said. “But yer very welcome. Call me any time.” He gave Atsumu a polite bow and opened the door. “Have a good night, Atsumu.”

“Yeah, you too.” Atsumu waved at Kita’s retreating back from the doorway, but he did not turn around before getting into the driver’s seat of his little pickup truck--and then he turned his head out the window and waved right back, with a soft smile.

Atsumu smiled and shut the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I am Always thinking about Kita Shinsuke (24) Rice Farmer.  
> 2\. I am continuing to push my "Meian is a dad" agenda. Furudate give us more MSBY content for Christmas please I promise I'll be good  
> 3\. Mama Miya and Kita are definitely homies. She's probably grateful for him putting them in their place all the time in high school.


	11. Somethin' like that, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He kicked off his shoes, dumped his bag by the door, and collapsed, face first, onto his bed and groaned. Home sweet home, or something like that.
> 
> OR: Atsumu returns to Osaka. Sometimes, one finds comfort where one least expects it.

The night train from Kobe to Osaka was mostly empty. Atsumu sat near the back, his gym bag hoisted into his lap. It was a quiet night, with only the rumbling of the railcar and the rustling of a businessman’s newspaper for company as the train rolled along the bustling Kansai coastline.

When the train pulled into his stop, Atsumu scrambled to his feet and stumbled off the bus, bag in tow, apologizing half-heartedly to an elderly passenger whose cane he nearly tripped over on the way out. The air outside in the station had a sharp, almost electric quality to it; but that was Osaka for you. Atsumu slung his bag cross-body and began the fifteen minute walk to the Jackals’ dorm building. Nobody paid him any mind--which was fine by him, as the last thing he wanted at the current moment in his life was to be accosted by a random fan on the street past 9 PM. Or any time, really.

Upon his arrival, Atsumu pulled his keycard out of his pocket and let himself into the building. The older woman at the front desk, Miki-san, smiled and said nothing as Atsumu nodded in her direction and got in the elevator up to the MSBY floor. The place was deserted--to be fair, not many of his teammates still lived in the dorms, aside from the other three-quarters of the infamous “Monster Generation”. Which was understandable, given that it was kind of shitty, aside from the kitchen, which had been recently updated a few years ago, not long after Atsumu joined the team. There was a 99 percent chance that Sakusa was both in his room and still awake, but if he was being honest Atsumu didn’t really want to get interrogated, so he avoided his teammate’s closed door like the plague as he made his way down the hall to his own room. He scanned his card and went in, the door slamming shut on its own behind him.

Atsumu flicked on the light and sighed. Everything was exactly as he’d left it before practice about two weeks ago, thankfully not too messy or out of order. He kicked off his shoes, dumped his bag by the door, and collapsed, face first, onto his bed and groaned. Home sweet home, or something like that. It was nice to be back in a bed that he didn’t have to climb into, one that was long enough to fit his legs. But hell, who was he kidding.

He already missed his brother.

Parched and more than a little hungry, Atsumu dragged himself back out of bed and into the hall in his slippers, keycard on its lanyard shoved in the pocket of the old Inarizaki sweatshirt he’d worn from home. (It might have been Osamu’s at one point. But who’s to say? They had identical ones.)

The light in the communal kitchen was on, and Atsumu entered expecting to find--honestly, he wasn’t sure who he was expecting to find. But it wasn’t Sakusa, who was seated at the table with a steaming mug in one hand and a book in the other. They both looked at each other in surprise--Sakusa, at seeing Atsumu back in Osaka unannounced, and Atsumu, at seeing Sakusa not holed up in his room.

“Miya?” Sakusa spoke first, marking his page and setting his book down carefully on the table. His mug froze halfway to his lips before he lowered it. “I didn’t know you were coming back today.”

Atsumu shrugged, casting aside his surprise and sitting down uninvited. “I only told Foster and Meian. I wanted to sneak in without bein’ jumped--I mean, Bokkun and Shouyou, ya know I love ‘em, but--”

With a bemused smile on his face, Sakusa cut in, “I know.” He took a sip of his drink and went back to his book.

Atsumu sputtered. “What, that’s all ya have to say to me?”

Sakusa looked up at him over the top of his book, eyebrows raised. “Well, I assume you didn’t come here to see me, given that you looked like you’d seen a ghost when you walked in.”

“Sorry, I was comin’ to get a snack. I was surprised to see ya here, is all.”

Sakusa hummed. “Well, there’s no practice tomorrow, so Bokuto and Hinata went out earlier and haven’t returned yet. Normally, you’d either be with them or wallowing in your room about something stupid. Seeing as I rarely join your outings, I’m actually here quite frequently. You’re just normally not around to witness it.”

“Oh,” Atsumu said. “Well, if I’m botherin’ ya I can grab my food and go--”

“You’re not bothering me,” Sakusa was quick to say. “I haven’t seen you since I left your dumb ass at the hospital in Kobe.”

Atsumu preened, getting up from his chair to rifle through the communal fridge. “What’s that? Did Omi-kun actually  _ miss _ me? Does he actually  _ like _ seeing my face?”

“Shut up.” Sakusa bristled, drowning his embarrassment in his tea. “Don’t let it go to your head. You’re still annoying; but you somehow manage to be one of the only sane people I interact with on a daily basis, at least a good 50 percent of the time.”

Atsumu’s jaw dropped. “Wow, Omi-Omi, I think that may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Like a little nugget of a compliment hidden within a mean, mean, insult.”

“I can and have been meaner. Don’t push your luck.” Sakusa put down his book again. “Do you want tea? There’s more in the pot.”

“Yer not going to finish it?” Atsumu shut the freezer door with his shoulder and grabbed his fox-printed mug out of the cabinet before sitting back down, frozen melon-flavored mochi stuffed in his mouth and another in his hand.

“No, there’s more than enough for one person to…” Sakusa trailed off, frowning at Atsumu in displeasure. “You know that’s Bokuto’s mochi that he specifically asked the rest of us not to eat without asking, right?”

“Yes,” Atsumu replied matter-of-factly, pouring himself some tea. “But I am a known thief. And besides, Bokuto can’t stay mad at me anymore because my life’s a shitshow and he feels bad.”

Sakusa rolled his eyes and sipped his tea. “Charming.”

“I sure am.” Atsumu bit into his second mochi and pointed a finger at Sakusa. “And don’t forget hot and intimidating.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Miya.” Sakusa sighed. “We both know you’re just overcompensating for the fact that you feel like shit.”

Atsumu’s cheeks flushed, and he tried to hide it behind his mug.

“I take it that since you’re back, Osamu is doing better?” Sakusa prodded.

Recovering from his embarrassment with a cough, Atsumu put his drink down and said, “Mostly, yeah. He’s gettin’ his strength back. He’s just pretty anxious and stressed some days, spends a lot of time sleepin’.”

Sakusa hummed. “That’s understandable. I don’t know your brother very well, but I’m sure he’ll bounce back with time, if his twin is anything to go by.”

“Yer not worried about me?”

“Now that I can see that you’ve made it back here alive and well, not really. Should I be?”

“Not necessarily, I guess I’m just surprised, is all.”

Sakusa’s brow creased. “Why?”

Atsumu shrugged, averting his eyes. “Most people have been on my ass tryin’ to make sure I’m alright. After ya chewed me out on FaceTime, I assumed ya would be the same.”

“Well, Miya, my natural state is a baseline level of worry about most everything.” Sakusa stood up and collected the empty teapot. “But I gave you the space it seemed like you needed, and I was content as long as I heard from you enough to confirm you were still functioning. I figured you had plenty of other people checking up on you, so I decided to leave you alone unless you came to me. And here you are.”

“I… actually really appreciate that, Omi-kun,” Atsumu said quietly. “And the tea.”

Sakusa shrugged, his back to Atsumu at the sink. “It is what it is. I have no problem chewing you out if you start acting stupid. But you know where to find me; here, as I usually am.”

Atsumu said nothing, and the two fell into a peaceful silence. He sipped at his tea by the warm glow of the kitchen light, while Sakusa washed his dishes with routine, careful precision, methodically cleaning each piece of the kettle and teapot in turn. The motion was surprisingly soothing for Atsumu to watch, settling the jumbled web of thoughts bouncing unbidden through his head; if Sakusa felt eyes on him, he said nothing. And just like that, Atsumu could feel the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach start to smooth itself over, just a little.

When Sakusa had finished, he turned to Atsumu and said, “I’m going to bed. Please get some rest; you look like you need it.” He nodded politely to Atsumu on the way out. When he disappeared, Atsumu just sat in the quiet, pondering the fact that Sakusa, though alone in the kitchen that evening, had still made a full pot of tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I firmly believe that canon Sakusa doesn't hate other people, he's just bad at dealing with them.
> 
> (Sometimes you just want someone to come drink some tea with you, but you're too proud to beg.)


	12. The gang's all here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fuckin’ hell,” Atsumu wheezed.
> 
> OR: It's an average free morning in the MSBY dorms. Atsumu's friends love him very much (even if they don't admit it). Current and former residents of their dorm building probably do not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really should start waiting until morning to post these instead of staying up late to finish them but uhh I'm feral. Anyway, it's MSBY time again! This fic has quickly become as much a love letter to the MSBY gang and all of Atsumu and Osamu's friends as much as it is a story about the twins as brothers. And you know, I think I'm perfectly fine with that.

Atsumu’s alarm went off bright and early in the morning; the Osaka sun filtered in through the blinds and spilled across the stained carpet of his dorm room. He groaned and rolled out of bed, stretched his arms high above his head, and staggered into the bathroom. For the first time in a few days, Atsumu let his eyes linger on his reflection in the mirror--he could see what Sakusa had meant the night before about him needing rest. He looked, to put it mildly, like shit. Even so, he found himself feeling more well-rested than he had in quite a bit. Not longer after Sakusa had gone to bed, Atsumu had stumbled back to his room and barely had the energy to brush his teeth and get into his pajamas before passing out.

Relinquishing himself to the day’s affairs, Atsumu shoved his feet into his slippers and left the sanctity of his bedroom. (Was this how Sakusa felt every morning?) The hallway was quiet, but there was a slight murmur coming from the communal area. And something smelled good.  _ Very _ good. Atsumu snuck down the hall and poked his head into the kitchen. There, he saw Hinata standing at the stove, decked out in his pajamas and Sakusa’s “stay the fuck away from the cook” apron (a gag gift from the team’s holiday gift exchange that ended up being used by just about everyone but Sakusa). He had a spatula in his hand and eyes firmly locked on whatever he was cooking, and he was humming contentedly along to the never-ending soundtrack of his mind.

“Whatcha cookin’, Shouyou-kun?” Atsumu called out from the doorway.

Hinata yelped and whirled around. Then his face lit up. “Atsumu-san! You’re back!”

“Yeah, I got in last night while ya were out.” Atsumu crossed the kitchen to meet him, and Hinata quickly got up in his face.

“This is perfect, I’m making pancakes!” Hinata raised his fists in the air triumphantly. “With blueberries! I can make smoothies too! Ah, Atsumu-san, sorry, I should ask--how have you been? How’s Osamu-san? Have you been getting proper sleep and eating right? Maybe we should start doing morning yoga as a group together, with Bokuto-san and Omi-san! Do you think--”

Atsumu chuckled, raising his hands placatingly. “Slow down, Shou-kun, that’s a lot of questions before I’ve had time to process any of ‘em.”

“Ah!” Hinata took a step back. “Sorry, Atsumu-san. I’m just so happy you’re back! Now we can practice our quick attack!”

“I’m glad to be back too. And ‘Samu’s doing pretty good, now.”

“Great!” Hinata turned back to his pancakes, before they could burn. “Sit. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

Atsumu hopped up on the counter; Hinata just looked at him in disbelief for a moment before shaking his head and spooning more batter into the pan.

Then, like a freight train, a new presence blew through the kitchen, catching both boys in its whirlwind.

“Tsum-Tsum!” exclaimed the mountain of a man that was Bokuto, hands in the air, somehow already dressed.

“Bokkun!” Atsumu responded in less-than-equal measure.

“Bokuto-san!” cheered Hinata.

“Hinata!” Bokuto called back.

“Didn’t y’all see each other  _ last night _ ?” Atsumu asked, deadpan.

As if realizing anew that Atsumu was there, Bokuto turned to him and repeated, “Tsum-Tsum! You’re here!”

“I’m back. It’s good to see ya, Bokkun, but--tone it down a bit, before ya wake the whole building.”

“Ah, right,” Bokuto stage-whispered. “How’s Myaa-sam?”

“He’s good, buddy. Thanks for askin’.”

Hinata flipped a pancake with his spatula, leaving one side a perfect golden brown. Looking all too pleased with himself, he pointed his spatula at Bokuto and instructed him to set the table for four.  _ Four _ , Atsumu thought with an internal sense of foreboding.

“Get off the counter, Miya.”

Atsumu leapt off the counter so fast he swore he clipped through time and space briefly before things righted themselves and he saw Sakusa, as eerily punctual as ever (seriously, were they able to summon him?), glaring at him from the doorway.

“The gang’s all here,” Hinata said with no hint of irony.

“You’re all agonizingly cheerful this morning as always,” Sakusa muttered, ever the agreeable morning person, arms crossed over his chest. He was dressed in his pajamas and a flannel bathrobe, curly hair still held hostage by bedhead. No one paid him any mind as he stalked over to the coffee machine and started it up with a little more force than necessary.

“Hey, Tsum-Tsum, since you’re here,” Bokuto said, placing his hand by his mouth and glancing around the kitchen conspiratorially despite the fact that Hinata was less than two feet away, “last night when Hinata and I got home I came in here for a snack, and two of my melon mochis were missing. Did you eat them?”

“I don’t know what yer talking about,” Atsumu said.

“He ate them,” Sakusa piped up from the other side of the kitchen.

“Omi-kun!” Atsumu cried in betrayal. “How the fuck did ya even hear that?”

“You should know by now I hear everything in perfect stereo this early in the morning. You’re so loud. Stop talking.”

“Omi-san,” Hinata said tentatively, scrunching up his nose. “Don’t you think you should be nice to Atsumu-san? He did just get back.”

Sakusa said nothing. Hinata just sighed and moved another perfect pancake to the serving plate.

“So…” Atsumu started. The tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife. “How’s practice been?”

Hinata replied, “Fun!” at the same time that Bokuto said, “Lonely...” and Sakusa, with an accusatory finger in the duo’s direction, shot back, “These two drive me crazy.”

“Aw, Omi-Omi, you know you love us!” Bokuto sing-songed.

“...No comment.”

“See, you’re not denying it!”

Sakusa sighed and looked at Atsumu, gesturing broadly at Bokuto. “See? Do you see what I have to deal with when you’re not around?”

Exasperated, Atsumu said, “Omi-kun, I hate to break it to ya, but yer equally weird and high maintenance. Just in yer own special way.”

“Atsumu-san’s right!” Hinata piped up. Then, without missing a beat, he announced, “Breakfast time! But first! Group hug on Atsumu-san.”

Atsumu barely had time to blink before Hinata had launched himself at his back and clung there like a koala around his neck. Bokuto was quick to swoop in after him, sweeping them both up in a bone-crushing hug.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Atsumu wheezed.

“Omi-Omi! You too!” Bokuto commanded, waving a grumpy Sakusa over from his post by the coffee maker. He frowned over the top of his mug.

Hinata beckoned him over with a nod of his head. “C’mon, Omi-san. You know you love us.”

“You’re all impossible,” Sakusa grumbled, but he crossed the kitchen floor anyway, slightly more agreeable now that he was already halfway through his cup of coffee. He held his arms out and reluctantly let Bokuto sweep him up into the hug.

“Hey,” Atsumu said, voice muffled by Bokuto’s beefy shoulder, “do ya ever think we’re the reason people keep movin’ out of the dorms?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sakusa said sarcastically.

Atsumu glared at him out of the corner of his eye. “Are ya quoting me?”

“Yes. You see how stupid you sound?”

“Shut it.”

Hinata broke in with a clap of his hands above Atsumu’s head. “Okay! Let’s eat!”

  
  


Once pancakes had been doled out and the four of them had settled down to eat, Hinata asked, “So, how do we help?”

Atsumu blinked at him. “Huh?”

A blank expression flashed across Hinata’s face. “I told you we’d all help you figure things out, remember? For Osamu-san?”

“Oh.” Atsumu shoveled pancakes into his mouth. “Right.”

“We can promote the reopening on social media,” Bokuto suggested.

Atsumu shook his head vehemently. “‘Samu would hate that. He only likes usin’ me for clout when it’s his idea. Me postin’ about it once or twice is bad enough, let alone all of ya.”

Hinata frowned. “Well, just say the word and we’ll help!  _ Right,  _ Omi-san?”

Sakusa nodded. “Sure.”

Atsumu’s shoulders dropped and a smile wormed its way onto his face. “Thanks, guys. I really missed ya.”

Ever since they were kids, Atsumu was always the more irrational and emotionally volatile one between him and Osamu. Growing up with Atsumu attached to his hip gave Osamu patience and emotional intelligence that Atsumu never possessed--and, in fact, it was typically Atsumu who was the only one who could get a rise out of his comparatively calmer brother. But Osamu was always there to clean up Atsumu’s messes, whether it was when they were kids and no one on their team liked him, or back around New Year’s when Atsumu showed up to Onigiri Miya whining and moaning about his serves.

Once, when they were in high school, Atsumu had tripped on their way home from school and went skidding across the pavement, scraping up both hands and most of his left side. He’d howled and complained all the way home, and Osamu had laughed and called him a crybaby at the time; but nevertheless, he’d led Atsumu home and helped him clean and treat his scrapes with a gentle hand, only scolding Atsumu once or twice when he flinched away from the alcohol solution. And later that afternoon, when Atsumu was still pouting over the incident, Osamu had wordlessly made him a tuna onigiri and watched him eat the whole thing. He hadn’t had nearly as much practice yet, but Atsumu still believed it was the best he’d ever made.

Now, the company of his teammates soothed the sting of missing Osamu, as it had ages ago when they first went their separate ways, when MSBY was a very different team, and he and Bokuto were two baby-faced benchwarmers amongst veterans. And so he would learn, as he had back then, that loneliness was a temporary thing--they would have to endure some messes apart from one another, but they would never have to do it alone. And Osamu, Atsumu knew, would only ever be one phone call, one rice ball away, and never further, so long as they were both still breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please no one count the amount of times I make these characters have conversations in kitchens. Look, it's about Food as a metaphor for LOVE okay this is the rice boys we're talking about!!!


	13. A labor of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was always rice.
> 
> OR: With a little help, Osamu reflects on Inarizaki's motto, rice, and the world at his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOHOHOHOHO I've been excited to put out this chapter. Yes I'm still thinking about The Rice Chapter from the manga ("Who Needs Memories", you know the one). That last panel lives in my mind rent free.

Steam billowed out of the rice cooker in soft clouds. Osamu scooped it evenly into two bowls, alongside little perfectly pan-seared sausages and a chopped carrot salad. Then he wiped his hands on the towel over his left shoulder and grabbed two sets of chopsticks before carrying the bowls to the sliding door leading out to the back porch, beyond which the rice paddies stretched out far into the distance until they met the mountains that towered like skyscrapers in the bright blue Hyogo sky. Down in the field a ways, he caught the attention of Kita, who smiled brightly at Osamu under the brim of his hat.

“Oh, Osamu!” he called as he approached, lifting his hat from his head to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. “It’s good to see ya up and about.”

Osamu smiled sheepishly. “I feel good today,” he said. “Maybe it’s the weather.”

In a gentle tone that still left no room for argument, Kita said, “Ah, don’t sell yerself short. I think ya feel better because yer determined to.”

“Maybe.” Osamu presented the bowls in either hand. “I made lunch, if yer hungry.”

Kita looked up at the sky, eyeing the position of the sun overhead. “Hm, I reckon it is just about time for lunch,” he mused. Then he fixed Osamu with a smile. “Let me get washed up. We’ll eat out here; the sunshine will be good for yer health.”

Osamu nodded and followed Kita’s retreating back with his eyes as he went over to the outdoor sink beside the shed. He sat down on the wooden boards and watched with the same poorly-concealed awe he’d always had as Kita methodically scrubbed the dirt from his hands, dried them, and carefully stepped out of his tall work boots before sliding into his sandals and joining Osamu up on the porch. He sighed in relief as he sat down, setting his hat at his side, and accepted the bowl that was handed to him with a polite thank you. Osamu looked on with bated breath as he took a bite.

“This is very delicious, Osamu,” Kita said simply. “Well done, as always.”

Tension slipped out of Osamu’s shoulders. He wasn’t sure why he felt relieved, but he did. It was as though he’d been afraid of losing his touch, even after only a couple short weeks away from his craft.

“The vegetables are a bit rough,” he admitted, flexing his right hand. “I don’t want to strain my wrist too much too soon.”

Kita hummed. “Ya should ice it later,” he said.

“It’s already healed, Kita-san, I think it’s--”

“Osamu.”

Osamu’s mouth snapped shut.

Kita continued, “Remember, a healthy life is built upon routine. Now more than ever, ya have to be meticulous and proactive in taking care of yerself, physically and mentally.”

Osamu nodded and shoveled rice into his mouth to avoid making a further fool of himself. The air was bright and clean, quiet save for the ambient sounds of nature. He felt good, as he’d told Kita. Cooking a meal had felt good.

He told Kita as much, saying, “It felt weird to cook again. But it felt good.”

“Ya sound surprised by that.”

Osamu considered this. Then he said, “I guess I thought, ‘Well, if my business literally burned to the ground, then I guess I failed.’ That was stupid, and ‘Tsumu told me so over and over, but… I guess I’ve just been really in my own head about it.”

“That’s understandable. Ya had traumatic experience, and I’m sure yer brother was just bein’ pushy because he loves ya and that’s just how he is.” Kita tilted his head to the side. “But did ya really think ya could give up something ya love like that?”

“I don’t know, Kita-san. I don’t know that I’ve been thinkin’ much at all; just avoiding it.”

Kita seemed to consider this for a moment, letting his eyes wander out to the rice fields, the fresh spring growth dappled in shades of yellow and gold by the noon sun. He set aside his empty bowl.

“Osamu, did ya pursue cooking because ya thought it’d make ya successful?”

Osamu balked at this. “No, no, I… I did it because it made me happy.”

Kita pushed further. “What is it about it that makes ya happy?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it. I just like food.”

With a hum, Kita propped his chin up on the palm of his hand. “Why d’ya think I decided to take over the family rice farm?”

Coming from anyone else, the question may have felt like a trap, but this was Kita, who never minced words or strung you along. So Osamu answered honestly, “I guess I thought it was because ya liked the routine?”

Kita laughed, a warm rumbly thing that bubbled from his chest into the country air. “I suppose that was part of it,” he said, “but don’t ya think about the time and care that goes into doin’ something ya love?”

Osamu couldn’t keep the perplexed look of his face.

A chuckle escaped Kita’s lips. “Let me explain.” He gestured at the growing rice, at the flat paddies that sprawled out into the distance. “Right now, the mornings are cool, but the days are growing warmer and longer. Before we know it, the summer will come and bring the rainy season with it to nourish the fields as they grow. Come the fall, all of this will be rice, harvested and processed and shipped out for the new year. Ya take that rice and shape it, in yer own hands, with love and care into something for people to enjoy and to nourish their bodies, like the rain feeds the earth.” He smiled. “And, I suppose, folks like Atsumu use that energy to feed their own passions.”

Silently, Osamu followed Kita’s line of sight out into the rice fields and then beyond, up to the rolling hills and mountains and even higher, until he wasn’t sure what he was looking at anymore.

“If ya set yer sights too high, Osamu, you’ll forget the very basics of it,” Kita cautioned.

Osamu let his gaze slide back down to the rice paddies, and then back to Kita. “I don’t think I have any big reason for liking it,” he said. “Makin’ food for people just makes me feel good. I think if something makes ya happy, it makes ya happy.”

Kita laughed brightly. “Aran said something like that to me years ago. I like to think he was right.” He stood and gently lifted Osamu’s empty bowl from his hands. “Rice for me, cooking for you, volleyball for yer brother. It ain’t just about the results, Osamu; all passions are a labor of love. And spring is a season for new beginnings; ya can always start anew. The road ain’t crumblin’ away behind or ahead of ya. Dontcha forget that.”

With that, Kita carried their bowls to the kitchen and disappeared inside, leaving Osamu with only his thoughts and the mountains for company. And the rice. There was always rice.

_ A labor of love, huh? _ Osamu thought to himself. Kita had always hated their high school’s motto, about leaving the past in the past and focusing only on now. Like Atsumu, Osamu had always liked it; he liked the idea of pushing forward. But the older he got, ever since he drifted away from volleyball, he’d been beginning to see Kita’s perspective in a new light. At the end of the day, he did the things he did because the process of it made him happy, not just the end results.

Absently, Osamu wondered what Atsumu would reach for, whether he’d look toward the mountains or somewhere far beyond. Or maybe he’d be looking in a different direction entirely, racing forward with the memories at his back, only glancing back every now and then just to make sure Osamu was still watching. If he couldn’t see Osamu behind him, would Atsumu stop running?

Osamu shook the thought out of his head. Next time he saw his brother, he’d smack him in the head and make him a tuna onigiri, just to be safe.


	14. Country roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell me why we’re all here to watch you open a box again?” Sakusa asked.
> 
> OR: Memories are a funny thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO SORRY
> 
> This was originally going to be longer, but I decided to split it into two so I had something to post. More coming soon, hopefully!

“This is genuinely the funniest shit I’ve ever seen.”

“Stop talking.”

Sakusa’s gloved hands tightened on the steering wheel and he leaned forward to peer more carefully out the front windshield.

Atsumu snickered. “Omi-kun, ya look like ya have no idea what the hell yer doing.”

“I will admit I am a little bit out of my element.”

“A little?” A cackle escaped Atsumu’s throat, reverberating percussively against the interior of Sakusa’s car. “They’re just roads, Omi-Omi. Ya look like this is yer first time drivin’.”

“I’ve never driven in the country before, Miya,” Sakusa snapped, eyes locked on the winding road ahead of them. “I’m perfectly fine. I’m just being extra cautious.”

From the backseat, a bright-eyed Hinata piped up, “It kind of reminds me of home!”

Atsumu turned around in the passenger’s seat. “Oh yeah, that’s right, yer a country boy too, ain’t ya, Shouyou-kun? Unlike Omi over here, uptight city slicker.”

“Shut up.”

Hinata smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I guess so, though I’m from the opposite side of the country, so it’s still pretty different. Anyway, it’s more like the suburbs. Though I guess I did ride my bike over the mountains every day to get to school.”

Sakusa made a pained sound.

Turning back around, Atsumu hummed and said, “This is basically suburbs too.” Then he laughed. “Man, if we were drivin’ all the way out to Kita-san’s place, ya’d really be in for a shock, Omi-kun!”

“Oh my  _ god _ , Miya, you are the most annoying person I have ever met. It’s a shame such a tragic thing happened to your brother of all people; he’s much nicer than you.” He fixed Atsumu with a look out of the corner of his eye before refocusing on his stilted driving. “Or were you hoping to make me drive off the road so you can land yourself in the hospital too, just so you can try your hand at beating him at something else, is that it?”

“Low blow, Omi-san,” Hinata muttered.

“It’s fine, Shou-kun, don’t bother,” Atsumu huffed. He glared at Sakusa. “I’ll have you know that ‘Samu may  _ seem _ like he’s the nice twin or whatever, but to me he’s a real jerk. He’s beaten me in pretty much every fight we’ve ever had. Just you wait until we get there, Sunarin will tell ya!”

Sakusa snorted. “You’re telling on yourself, Miya. Besides.” A smirk crept onto his face. “Suna-kun thinks you’re a jerk, too, and I’m sure he’ll tell you so to your face when we arrive.”

Atsumu gaped. “Who told ya that?”

“My cousin.”

Dismayed, Atsumu smacked his own thigh. “Dammit, Motoya-kun! Why’re him and Sunarin always gossipin’ about me?” He turned to look in the backseat. “Shouyou, ain’t ya gonna defend my honor?”

Scrolling through his phone with marked disinterest, Hinata offered, “The entire V-League is just a big gossip ring. That’s what happens when you get an entire generation of players who all knew each other in high school. Can’t help you there, Atsumu-san.”

With a dramatic sigh, Atsumu sunk down in his seat. “I wish Bokkun hadn’t gone back to Tokyo this weekend. If he were here he’d stand up for me.” Eyes lighting up, he popped back up and pointed frantically through the windshield. “Here, Omi-Omi, up ahead!”

Sakusa pulled over outside Atsumu’s childhood home. His mother’s car sat in the driveway, and the trees swayed lightly in the breeze. Atsumu led them both up to the front door and inside, where they were greeted by an enthusiastic Mama Miya.

“Oh, there ya are! C’mere, I missed ya!” she cooed, throwing her arms around him and squeezing tight.

“C’mon, Ma, yer embarrassing me,” Atsumu mumbled into her shoulder, feeling his face heat up; he was certain the tips of his ears were turning red, if Sakusa’s snicker was anything to go by. “I haven’t been gone that long.”

“I don’t care, Atsu, I like having my boys where I can see ya! Especially now that Osamu’s not here.” She released him and began fussing over him, hands flitting across his shoulders.

“It’s a good change of pace for him, Ma. And ya can’t tell him we were here, got it?”

Mama Miya nodded seriously. “Got it,” she said, and then turned her attention to their two guests. “Ah, where are my manners? Hinata-kun, Sakusa-kun, it’s lovely to have ya both here.”

“Thanks for having us!” Hinata beamed.

“It’s a pleasure to see you as well, Miya-san,” Sakusa said amicably, still stifling a smirk at Atsumu’s embarrassment.

“The box is in the back; someone from the fire department delivered it yesterday. Is Suna-kun coming?” Mama Miya asked her eldest.

Atsumu nodded. “Yeah, he’s comin’ in on the train so he should be here soon.”

“I’ll make some tea and leave ya to it.” Mama Miya patted her son on the shoulder two times, and he led Hinata and Sakusa to the back of the house. They set up on the floor around the kotatsu, with the porch door slid open to let the fresh air in.

Suna arrived just as the tea was ready, appearing in the doorway as if he’d let himself in. He immediately smacked Atsumu in the back of the head and dropped down beside him, leaving him whining and clutching the back of his skull like a petulant child.

“Good to see you, Hinata. And Sakusa,” he said smoothly.

“I saw highlights from your last match, Suna-san!” Hinata immediately gushed. “You were like,  _ whoosh!  _ And the opposing blockers were all like,  _ ba-blam! _ But they couldn’t catch you.”

Suna snorted. “Thanks, I think.”

“Sunarin!” Atsumu blurted once he’d recovered. “Tell Omi-Omi that ‘Samu is a bigger jerk than me!”

“Why would I lie?”

Sakusa choked on his tea. Atsumu gasped, scandalized.

“ _ Sunarin! _ Are ya sayin’ I’m the bigger jerk?”

“You’re both a pain in the ass,” Suna said. “But at least Osamu has a filter.”

“I have a filter too! Shouyou-kun?” Atsumu turned to his teammate expectantly.

Hinata shook his head. “We both know that’s not true, Atsumu-san. Remember our last fan event where--”

“ _ Okay! _ You’ve all made yer point.” He glared between Suna and Sakusa. “How come ya have a gossip ring with Motoya-kun about me and not about Omi?”

Suna blinked at him. “Komori and I gossip about Sakusa-kun plenty. I, unlike Komori, just don’t blab, not because I’m the bigger person, but because I simply don’t care enough to let you in on it.”

Sakusa frowned, setting his tea down with more force than strictly necessary. For his part, Atsumu sputtered, caught between the betrayal of being left out of the EJP-MSBY gossip ring and the euphoria of seeing Sakusa receive karmic punishment.

“Why don’t you open the box?” Hinata suggested, ever the peacemaker.

Atsumu sighed. “Good idea, Shou-kun.” He clambered ungracefully out from under the kotatsu and dragged the (somewhat heavy) cardboard box over from the corner of the room.

“Tell me why we’re all here to watch you open a box again?” Sakusa asked.

“Moral support, Omi-san,” Hinata supplied.

Tearing into the packing tape sealing the box, Atsumu said, “Seeing what they were able to salvage is the next step in Operation: Onigiri Miya. Forgive me for wanting a few of my closest allies and confidants to be involved.”

Suna cut in, “You gave this whole plan a code name?”

“Shut it.” Atsumu pushed the box flaps out of the way and peered inside. There wasn’t much in the box, which he’d expected; there were a couple of cast iron skillets that had survived the fire (which explained the weight) and some files that had been preserved more or less intact inside the metal cabinet Osamu kept in the back of the restaurant. And there on top, sealed in a plastic gallon bag, were the seared, crumbling remains of old photographs and handwritten papers, their edges blackened and torn. Atsumu held it carefully in his hands like a fragile bird, air escaping his lungs shakily as though his breathing itself could render the precious thing nothing but a pile of ash.

“Miya?”

Atsumu raised his head, blinking at Sakusa across from him.

“Right,” he said softly, setting the plastic bag on the surface of the kotatsu. “Osamu had this old album he took from Ma. It had a ton of old family photos, and handwritten recipes from our grandmother before she died. I don’t know why he kept it at the shop; I guess he just liked to look at it, is all.”

For a moment, no one said anything. Then, from his other side, Hinata leaned over and pointed at one of the photos through the bag.

“Is that you and Osamu-san?” he asked gently.

Atsumu chuckled and nodded. Though the edges were jagged and burned, the photo, fading a bit with age, still clearly showed him and Osamu as little kids side by side on the bank of the river that ran near their Gran’s old house. They sported matching grins splitting their faces open wide, knees knocking together and popsicles in their hands. Atsumu’s hair was plastered to his forehead, a beach towel wrapped around his shoulders.

“I remember that day. ‘Samu pushed me into the river, and Gran thought I was gonna drown even though the water was only a couple feet deep there,” Atsumu explained. He smiled fondly. “I started cryin’ like a little baby, of course, mostly for attention, so Ma gave me a popsicle to shut me up. Then ‘Samu got one too, ‘cuz he complained.”

“Typical,” Suna teased, voice soft. “You two really never change.”

Memories were a funny thing. Atsumu and Osamu had both never been the sentimental type; they were both fully inclined to plow forward through life, side by side even if their roads had diverged somewhere along the way. But this album had meant something. It had meant something enough to Osamu for him to even consider risking his life for it, foolish as that may have been. Atsumu didn’t like to look backward. He didn’t like to let anything stand in the way of his future. But when Onigiri Miya burned, Atsumu turned and saw that Osamu wasn’t alongside him anymore, and it scared him.

Suddenly, that narrow-minded pull toward his future had given way, and Atsumu could see his past stretching out for miles behind him. The tugging of his memories on his heart could never make Atsumu give up volleyball--that much was certain--but it all felt less meaningful without Osamu beside him. It didn’t matter, though; he would wait for Osamu to catch up, as long as it took. He would sit with Osamu at the edge of the river, wait for his socks to dry in the sun, and then they’d push onward together, the past at their backs and the summer’s afternoon light stretching long and wide in front of them.

“Yeah,” Atsumu whispered. “I guess not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FURUDATE MUST HAVE HEARD ME. That illustration with Komori and "Super Stay-Homer Omi?" Greatest Christmas gift. And Natsu too!!!!!


	15. I'd like to think we're friends, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu was certain that twin telepathy did not exist.
> 
> OR: Sometimes all you need is friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This chapter is a continuation of the previous chapter. It's also a bit heavy, but not without comfort.
> 
> Warning: The fire is described again in this chapter! Take care if you need it.

The afternoon slipped smoothly into evening until the soft glow of sunset seeped into the room through the sliding door. Mama Miya offered to make dinner while the four of them remained gathered around the kotatsu, pouring over articles, messages, and photos that Suna produced from his backpack.

“Atsumu,” he said, calling Atsumu’s attention from a print-out of Twitter replies. “Did you actually see Onigiri Miya?”

Atsumu tilted his head. “Me and ‘Samu drove by before, but they weren’t lettin’ us go inside for safety reasons. They’re about to start rebuilding, so--”

“No, I mean did you see the fire. I’ve got pictures from the news articles, but only if you’re comfortable seeing them.”

“Show me.”

Sliding a palm across the table, Sakusa urged, “Miya, I’ve seen them. If it’s going to upset you, don’t.”

Atsumu smiled. “I’ll be fine, Omi-Omi. I know what I’m doing.”

Sakusa relented, but not without a subtle crease in his brow that Atsumu pointedly ignored.

Suna produced a manila folder from his backpack and slid it in front of Atsumu. He opened it and pointed to the newspaper clipping that lay on top.

“Here,” he said quietly. “This is from the next morning.”

Slowly, Atsumu reached for the page and brought it closer to his eyes. No one spoke; he studied the article with a fraught sort of silence and a watery frown.

“BELOVED KOBE-AREA ONIGIRI JOINT BURNS,” read the headline. Atsumu recognized the newspaper as one his mother subscribed to--he realized she must have gotten rid of it before he or Osamu got home, as she’d gotten rid of all the others, and taken extra care to keep her sons shielded from the news coverage as much as possible.

There, emblazoned front and center on the page, was a local photojournalist’s shot of Onigiri Miya up in flames, captured from across the street in the gap between emergency vehicles. The shattered windows glowed a ghastly bright orange, plumes of smoke pouring out of the roof as flames licked at the building’s heels. It wasn’t a surprising sight; Atsumu had pictured this scene in his mind’s eye a thousand times before, lying awake at night on the top bunk while Osamu tossed and turned below him. But the image of it made it real again, and there was that sickening feeling in Atsumu’s stomach once more, the inexplicable heaviness over his shoulders.

Atsumu was certain that twin telepathy did not exist. If it did, he would never look at Osamu and have to wonder what he was thinking. He would always have the right things to say, the ability to say “I know how you feel” and mean it. But there was a decent chance Atsumu was staring at a bystander’s view of the most terrifying moment of Osamu’s life, and if it wasn’t Osamu’s pain and terror he was feeling right now, then he didn’t know what.

“I know it’s heavy. But the outpouring of support--like I showed you--has been incredible. Even when you both made it clear you weren’t even looking.” Suna paused. “Atsumu? You okay?”

Atsumu turned his head abruptly, but avoided Suna’s eyes. “Huh? Yeah, m’fine.” He took a shuddering breath. “I’m gonna get some fresh air. Excuse me.” He clambered awkwardly to his feet and stumbled out the back door, disappearing into the spring evening.

Suna, Hinata, and Sakusa stared at one another for a moment. Sakusa was the first to speak.

“He shouldn’t have looked at that folder.”

Suna sighed. “It’s my fault for bringing it up. I shouldn’t have shown him in the first place.”

“Then why did you?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just thought he needed to see it. Maybe it’d bring him closure.”

Benevolently, Hinata offered, “It’s not your fault, Suna-san. You didn’t know he’d get overwhelmed.”

Sakusa said, “Someone should go after him.”

Suna frowned. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll go,” Hinata decided, climbing to his feet. “He’s least likely to get mad at me.”

Sakusa opened his mouth to protest, but then said, “You know what, that’s fair.”

When Suna nodded his approval as well, Hinata slipped out the back door and knocked twice on the doorframe, shutting it behind him quietly. Atsumu glanced over his shoulder at him from his seat on the edge of the porch, eyes misty with unshed tears.

“Hey, Shouyou-kun,” he said.

“Hi, Atsumu-san,” Hinata replied, not moving from his spot. “If you want space, I’ll leave you be. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, is all.”

Atsumu shook his head. “Yer good. Do ya wanna sit for a minute?”

“Sure.” Hinata crossed the porch and sat down beside him, legs dangling over the edge into the garden below. Birds chirped quietly around them, pecking in the soft dirt for bugs and seeds. The sun was just melting into the horizon in a wash of pink and purple.

“Sorry for makin’ a scene,” Atsumu said. “I just got a little overwhelmed.”

“Don’t apologize.” Hinata began swinging his legs back and forth. “Remember we’re here to help.”

“Thanks, Shou-kun. I just…” Atsumu rubbed at his eyes. “When I look at those pictures, I know ‘Samu was in there. That was his pride and joy, and he almost  _ died _ in there. And I couldn’t be there to help him. I almost never saw him again.”

Hinata hummed. “I know it’s not the same, but I have a younger sister. I worry about her sometimes when I can’t be there, and if anything ever happened to her, I don’t know what I would do. The fact that you’re still moving forward, Atsumu-san, and doing everything you can to make things right…” He tilted his head up and beamed at Atsumu. “I think that makes you pretty damn cool.”

Atsumu went pink to the tips of his ears. “Well, thank you. That’s high praise.”

Hinata laughed, soft and bubbly. “Do you want to come back inside? It’s probably time to eat soon, and whatever your mom was making smelled really good.”

A chuckle escaped Atsumu’s lips. “In a minute, Shouyou-kun. But thank you. For talkin’ me down.”

Hinata patted his shoulder. “Any time.”

* * *

  
  


The Hyogo night drifted by in a blur of high beams and city lights as Sakusa’s car rumbled smoothly along in silence. Hinata had already drifted off in the back seat, leaving a stilted peace to worm its way into the gap between Sakusa and Atsumu.

“I’m sorry for makin’ ya come all this way just to watch me look at shit, or whatever,” Atsumu eventually murmured. “I know this isn’t how ya would prefer to spend yer Saturday off.”

“You didn’t ‘make’ me do anything, Miya,” Sakusa said firmly, eyes flicking to him briefly. “I came because you wanted support.”

Atsumu leaned his head on the window, feeling the car’s vibrations rattle around in his skull. Sakusa grimaced.

“In fact, I wanted to apologize for my comments earlier,” Sakusa continued. “I shouldn’t have been short with you. And Hinata was right--bringing up your brother was a low blow.”

“Like I already told ya, it’s fine. I don’t care. In fact, ya being mean to me makes me feel normal. I’d rather ya didn’t tiptoe around me.”

“It still wasn’t right.”

Atsumu groaned. “If I say I accept yer apology will ya stop?”

“Yes.”

“Then I accept yer apology.” Atsumu lifted his head and looked over at Sakusa, eyes bloodshot and weary. “And thanks. For looking out for me.”

“It’s no problem at all, Miya. I’ll admit I’m not the best with people. But I’m trying.”

At the rare moment of honest humility, Atsumu softened, allowing some of the tension to slip from his body.

“Yer better with people than ya think ya are, Omi-kun. I’m difficult and ya manage to put up with me. So thanks. For being my friend.”

Sakusa reached a hand over and shoved Atsumu in the arm. “Stop thanking me. Now let me drive.”

Atsumu laughed. “You got it.”

As the car rolled on, Atsumu pulled out his phone and texted Osamu.

> **To: Samu [9:04 PM]**
> 
> _ hey i saw news articles from the fire today _
> 
> _ like pictures and stuff _
> 
> **From: Samu [9:06 PM]**
> 
> _ Oh?? _
> 
> _ are you ok? You seem off _
> 
> **To: Samu [9:06 PM]**
> 
> _ yeah i’m ok just wanted to tell u i saw it _
> 
> _ i love u samu _
> 
> **From: Samu [9:06 PM]**
> 
> _ yeah whatever nerd _
> 
> **From: Samu [9:08 PM]**
> 
> _ love you too _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not including Bokuto in this little excursion. I thought it would be too unwieldy trying to juggle his over-the-top personality on top of everything else. He'll be back, though!
> 
> By the way: Happy New Year! May your 2021 be full of happiness and good times, and may we all be living in a better world soon.


	16. A labor of love, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu peered up at his brother from underneath his arms, misty-eyed. “But I wanted to win.”
> 
> OR: Osamu has a normal day, and maybe that's the point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RICE BOYS!!!

The days slipped into weeks, as the progress on the restoration of Onigiri Miya chugged along and the V.League season hurtled toward its ultimate conclusion. Osamu returned to his apartment to oversee the restoration (“from a  _ distance _ ,” insisted a very adamant Atsumu), and Atsumu made brief trips to and from Hyogo on the off-days between practices and matches. Behind the scenes, Suna and the rest of the Inarizaki alumni worked diligently to help Atsumu with his surprise plans, while the Jackals kept a firm hold on Atsumu to keep his head above water.

Osamu was half-asleep on the couch after an early dinner when his phone rang, blaring the shitty pop song Atsumu had set as his personalized ringtone. Jolting out of his skin, Osamu reached for the phone and begrudgingly answered his brother’s call.

“What?” he murmured.

_ “Let me in,” _ said Atsumu, voice muffled by steady raindrops.

Groaning, Osamu hung up, but he still stood up and pushed the buzzer by the door to let Atsumu into the building. Not a minute later, Atsumu was standing in his apartment, fresh off a crushing loss in the V.League finals, whining like a toddler with his hair plastered to his head and wet drops dappling his shoulders from the rain outside. He sported a bruise on his left cheekbone, a grim reminder of the final ball of the game that he’d taken directly to the face.

“My life is a  _ disaster _ , ‘Samu!”

“Quit yer whining,” Osamu said, tossing his brother a towel from the bathroom closet to dry his hair. “And stop drippin’ all over my floor. What, did ya not bring an umbrella?”

“I didn’t know it was supposed to fuckin’  _ rain _ .” Atsumu sneered, but the effect was lost to the way his head was partially covered with the towel. “It ain’t the rainy season yet. It’s not the time for this shit.”

“Whatever, moron.” Osamu left him wallowing in his own personal rain puddle in the entryway and disappeared into the kitchen. He turned on the rice cooker and rummaged through the pantry for canned tuna, then moved to the fridge for mayo, soy sauce, and spring onions.

Atsumu joined him in the kitchen shortly thereafter, settling in at the table with a pout. The towel still hung around his shoulders, catching the remaining drops from the tips of his hair. Osamu eyed him carefully.

“So let me guess,” he said. “Ya got the idea in yer head that it’s yer fault alone ya lost the finals, and now ya decided to come to me and complain about how yer a failure, is that it?”

Scrunching up his nose, Atsumu rested his cheek on the surface of the table. “Ya don’t know what yer talkin’ about.”

“Oh, don’t I?” Osamu stood over his brother and slapped him across the back of the head with his palm, leaving him wailing and clutching his skull. “Yer a real idiot, ‘Tsumu. Ya got a whole team around ya, and I doubt any of ‘em think it’s all yer fault that ya lost. I know it’s important to ya, but one final game ain’t the end of the world. Besides, ya had enough going on lately as it is, no thanks to me, so making it to the finals is pretty damn great. Ain’t that enough for ya?”

Atsumu peered up at his brother from underneath his arms, misty-eyed. “But I wanted to win.”

“I know ya did.” Osamu rolled up his sleeves and turned on the sink to wash his hands. “But I refuse to indulge ya in whatever self-important pity fest yer tryin’ to have with me.” He dried his hands and regarded Atsumu carefully for a moment before pulling an ice pack from the freezer and folding it into Atsumu’s palm.

“Ice yer cheek,” he said. “That bruise looks awful.” He went back to the counter and opened the canned tuna, scooping it into a mixing bowl. He added in the mayo and soy sauce and then began chopping the spring onions. With the ice pack pressed against his cheek, Atsumu followed his movements, eyes flitting between the lingering burn scars on Osamu’s forearms and the calm, focused look on his face.

“What’re ya starin’ for?” Osamu asked without looking at him.

“Ya look healthier than ya did last time I saw ya,” Atsumu said. “Ya got more color in yer face.”

“Do I?” Osamu transferred the spring onion to the bowl and began mixing. “I certainly feel better than I did. Did I tell ya I took my doctor up on her offer? I’m gonna start seein’ a therapist, especially once business kicks back up and I start gettin’ stressed out.”

“That’s great, ‘Samu.” He heard Atsumu shift the ice pack to the other hand. “I’m glad yer doin’ better.”

Osamu returned to cooking in silence. When the cooker beeped, he fluffed the rice and set it out to cool for a few minutes before he began shaping the onigiri. Atsumu watched his steady, practiced hands scoop even amounts of filling into the center and form the rice ball around it, shaping them into perfect triangles. Then he cut up sheets of nori and wrapped the onigiri before seasoning the outside and plating them, leaving most of them for Atsumu and one for himself.

“Here, ya big crybaby,” he said, sliding the plate forward and sitting down opposite his brother. He watched Atsumu put down the ice pack, lift one of the onigiri and take a bite. His eyes lit up and his face brightened, a contented smile spreading across his face.

“Thanks, ‘Samu,” he said.

“Don’t talk with yer mouth full.”

Despite his words, Osamu smiled fondly at his brother and dug into his own onigiri.

* * *

  
  


They spent the remainder of the evening on Osamu’s couch watching shitty movies for the sake of making fun of them, until Osamu got up to take a shower and left his brother in front of the TV. When he returned, the Netflix screen bore an “Are you still watching?” message and Atsumu was sprawled out on the sofa fast asleep, mouth parted and head pillowed on his arm.

Osamu shook him from behind the couch. “Up, ‘Tsumu,” he said. “It’s, like, 10:30.”

“Mm?” Atsumu blinked awake. “Shit. Do ya have an extra umbrella I can borrow?”

Thinking, Osamu went to the window and drew back the curtain. Outside, the rain still fell, though much lighter than before. It also meant quite a walk to the train station, late at night. Osamu did not, in fact, have an extra umbrella.

“It’s pretty late, ‘Tsumu.”

“That’s okay.” Atsumu sat up and rubbed at his eyes. “I’ve been out later.”

Osamu sighed. “No, just stay here. Ya can sleep right where ya are.”

“No, it’s okay, ‘Samu. I don’t mind.” Nonetheless, Atsumu let himself be guided by the shoulder back down to his sleeping position.

“Stay,” Osamu insisted, patting him on the shoulder. “Ya slept in a hospital visitor’s chair for me, stayed up all night with me when I had nightmares, and have been making more frequent trips from Osaka just for my sake. The least I can do is make sure ya get some rest, yeah?”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Good. Now go back to sleep.”

Osamu went to the hall linen closet and pulled out a spare pillow and a soft blanket that had been a gift from Mama Miya last winter. Atsumu was already asleep again when he came back, snoring softly. Osamu fit the pillow under his head and draped the blanket over him, then turned off the light.

“Night, ‘Tsumu,” he whispered into the darkness, and then he walked down the hall to his own room, got in bed, and soon fell asleep to the falling raindrops outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are nearing the end! Can you feel it?


	17. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No, I’m not mad, I’m fucking overjoyed!” Osamu spat.
> 
> OR: Although the road we walk is a difficult one, no one walks it alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out... a bit heavier than I originally planned? At some point, it started writing itself. Next chapter though will be lighter in nature!

“Are ya ready ‘Samu?”

Osamu blinked against Atsumu’s clammy palm, trying and failing to pry it away.

“The fuck do ya mean? I was here last week. Of course I’m ready. Get yer gross hand off me.”

“Yeah, but ya haven’t seen my surprise!”

“Surprise, huh?” Osamu felt his brother tug him forward, out of the way of oncoming pedestrians. “Is that why ya were so insistent on handling things in my stead?”

Atsumu snorted. “Kinda. It was mostly ‘cuz ya were havin’ actual meltdowns over it and I wanted ya to relax. But hey, whatever helps ya sleep at night.”

On instinct, Osamu’s foot shot out and collided with Atsumu’s shin. In his shock, Atsumu’s hand faltered, and Osamu was able to free himself from his now-howling brother’s clutches. He blinked once or twice in the sudden sunshine and shielded his eyes from the glare as he stared up at the newly renovated facade of Onigiri Miya. It looked much like it once did, now with new windows and a fresh paint job. The branded awning was new, as was the roof, a far cry from how run-down it had been the day Osamu had first picked up the keys a couple of years ago. Chuckling to himself, he fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door, a grumbling Atsumu trailing behind him.

Although he’d been involved to some degree in most of the renovation plannings, Osamu had yet to see the fully finished interior, per his twin’s rather insistent request. What he found, though, at first did not surprise him. Like the front, the inside was aesthetically almost the same as it had been before the fire. After all, Osamu wasn’t looking for a rebrand or a fully updated renovation. There was a certain sheen to everything, though--the smell of the newly upholstered booths, the shiny new countertop, the light fixtures with all their bulbs warm and steady.

Suddenly, Atsumu leapt in front of him.

“Ah, but I gotta tell ya what we did!” He spread his arms out wide. “Wherever it was possible, we used fire-resistant materials that didn’t make things look too weird or artificial, because ya have specific tastes, or whatever. And--”

“Wait, ain’t that more expensive? Did insurance even cover that much?”

Atsumu had the nerve to look sheepish, rubbing the back of his head with the palm of his hand. “Well, good thing yer brother is a pro athlete.”

Osamu balked. “You didn’t, ‘Tsumu.”

“But that’s not all!” Atsumu ignored Osamu and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him off into the kitchen. He pointed out the shiny new stove and patted the top of it for emphasis. “Hot ticket item, right here. Top safety ratings, all that good stuff.”

“‘Tsumu--”

“For a second I was like, induction stoves would be way safer, right? But Ma said that was a dumb idea and I should stop thinkin’ so hard about what-ifs. Oh! And over here--”

“Wait, ‘Tsumu--”

Atsumu tugged him to the back and slapped his hand down on a metal cabinet. “New filing cabinet, this one’s actually designed to keep out the elements. So that’s pretty sick. I know ya--”

“ _ Atsumu! _ For the love of god, stop talking.”

Atsumu’s jaw snapped shut.

Osamu’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as he tried to formulate his thoughts. A rush of static spread through his veins and down his arms from his shoulders to the tips of his fingers, the same cold buzzing that swirled in his brain.

“Why, ‘Tsumu?” he asked sharply. “Just. Why?”

A startled look flashed across Atsumu’s face. “I wanted ya to have less things to worry about. Are ya mad?”

“No, I’m not mad, I’m fucking overjoyed!” Osamu spat.

“Now I’m just confused.”

“I don’t  _ want _ ya to worry about me, I don’t  _ want _ ya to pay out of pocket for me, I don’t  _ want  _ to feel like I’m--”

Atsumu cut in with a dark expression, “Osamu, I swear, if ya try to say that now ya owe me or somethin’, or that it ain’t fair, I will spike yer bitch ass into next week, don’t even test me. I’ve told ya a thousand times before, it ain’t coddling and it ain’t about cleanin’ up yer messes for ya or however the fuck yer thinkin’.”

“This whole thing is my fault,” Osamu said, blinking back mist in his eyes. “It’s my fault everyone’s been goin’ out of their way just for me, it’s my fault ya put so much on yer plate and had to pay all that money, hell, it might even be my fault ya didn’t win the finals ‘cuz I kept ya away from practice.”

Carefully, Atsumu wrapped him up in a hug.

“Listen, dude. I don’t give a shit about the time or the money. I don’t even care about the finals anymore. Ya have to realize none of that is important if yer in trouble.” He patted Osamu on the back for emphasis. “Ya don’t have to feel guilty for needing help. I promise.”

Osamu sniffled, anxious energy melting away into the hug. “I know, I know. I’m trying.”

“I know ya are,” Atsumu said gently. “So I’ll tell ya as many times as ya need. A lot of people care about ya, ‘Samu. I didn’t do anything for ya out of some kinda debt or obligation, I did it because yer my brother and I don’t  _ want _ any of that other stuff if it means lookin’ back and seein’ that ya ain’t there anymore. That’s all.”

A spark lit up in Osamu’s brain, a flicker of recognition. But he said nothing, and merely rolled the thought around in his mind for another minute while Atsumu continued hugging him tight.

“Can I show ya one more thing?” Atsumu finally asked. “It’s a little surprise that I had some help with.”

Osamu nodded and let Atsumu guide him by the shoulders back to the front of the restaurant, where he parked them in front of the main wall. It was decorated with different frames and memorabilia--Osamu had noticed them on the way in, but hadn’t looked very closely at them. Now, he got a better look, and what he saw sent a chill racing up his spine and a warmth spreading through his chest.

There was a photo of Osamu standing proudly in front of his booth at the first event he’d vended at, prior to opening the shop; a framed newspaper article about the fire; several critics reviews and award certificates from throughout the last few years; a couple of family photos and old team pictures; the first place medal from Nationals their third year (stolen from his closet at home, if he had to guess); a picture of him, Atsumu, Suna, and Aran by his vendor’s booth at last year’s Kurowashiki; and his personal favorite, a partially-burnt photo of Osamu and Atsumu side by side at the riverbank, popsicles in hand. It was like the story of Onigiri Miya and the story of Osamu, all at once, and maybe those were the same thing, in the end.

All passions were a labor of love, after all.

“Just a few memories I was able to dig up, with some help,” Atsumu said softly beside him. “But it ain’t over yet. There’s always room for more.”

Osamu picked his jaw up off the floor and stared at his brother, willing himself not to reach over and smack the dopey smile off his face.

“Yer an idiot,” he said, whacking him in the back instead. “But thank you. I love ya, ‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu beamed at him a mile wide. “I love ya too!”

* * *

  
  


After a long hiatus, a post went up on the official Onigiri Miya Instagram and Twitter later that afternoon, with a photo of Osamu standing proudly in front of the newly renovated shop, dangling his keys off of one finger:

>   
>  **_@onigirimiya:_ ** _ After a long process of recovery and restoration, Onigiri Miya reopens for business next week! On a personal note, I want to thank everyone for their well wishes regarding my health and safety in recent weeks, and for your patience towards my absence from the public eye. I especially want to thank my stupid idiot brother,  _ **_@miyatsumu_ ** _ , and our family and friends here in Hyogo and across the V.League. I’m lucky to have you all, and I’m beyond happy to report that I am in good health and hope to see everyone at the grand reopening. _


	18. Be well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, Osamu,” he said. “Did you ever figure out what it is that makes ya love cooking so much?”
> 
> OR: Life, like food, is better shared with other people. Luckily for Osamu, he's a pretty good cook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you saw me accidentally upload the previous chapter twice during last night's AO3 crash... no you didn't <3
> 
> EDIT: ZamiShah (@artofzamishah on tumblr) drew some amazing art of this fic!! Give it a look: https://artofzamishah.tumblr.com/post/640216409510723584/more-scenes-from-the-ff-with-a-little-water-and

To say that Onigiri Miya was packed wall-to-wall would be a laughable overstatement, but it felt that way to Osamu, sparking a flicker of excitement in his chest. His eyes roved around the room; Aran, Kita, Suna, and a couple other guys from Inarizaki sat at one of the booths on the side wall, Bokuto and Hinata looked to be provoking Sakusa at another table, and Atsumu was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, talking animatedly into the phone. Osamu slumped forward in his chair, propping his elbow up on the counter.

Soon, a tall figure loomed in front of him and dropped into one of the counter stools. Osamu was left face-to-face with Sakusa, of all people, who regarded him with an expression that seemed to be on the positive side of neutral, despite the irritated scrunch of his eyebrows.

“Those two were bothering me,” he said by way of introduction, referring to his boisterous teammates. “I hope you don’t mind company.”

“Not at all,” Osamu said pleasantly.

Sakusa paused, tapping the tips of his fingers against the countertop, like a nervous tic. Then, he said, “You’re looking well, Osamu-kun. Motoya sends his best, by the way.”

“Tell him thanks for me, will ya?”

“Of course.” With a tilt of his head, Sakusa continued, “Is it okay if I ask why you’re over here by yourself?”

Osamu shrugged. “I’m just takin’ it all in for a bit, that’s all.”

“Quiet and contemplative, I see. That makes another difference between you and your brother.”

Osamu snorted, leading Sakusa to crack a smile. A loud clatter rang out, then, punctuated by the tinkling chime above the door, and then Atsumu was pushing their mother across the room with a rabid fervor, running his mouth like always.

“--so long, Ma,” Osamu heard once he was in earshot.

“I’m sorry, Atsu, she was just so nice!” Mama Miya fired back, juggling a bouquet of flowers in her arms. “What, did ya want me to not talk to her after she was so kind to do this?”

“What’s that, Ma?” Osamu asked. Her eyes flicked over to him and lit up, and she deposited the flowers on the counter before turning the corner and giving him a hug.

“Osamu! Sweetie!” she cooed.

Osamu went red to the tips of his ears; Sakusa was trying to hide a smirk behind his hand, and Atsumu was sticking his tongue out at Osamu like the immature brat he was.

“I saw ya just the other day, Ma,” Osamu muttered.

“I know, I know. But every time I get to see ya is a precious gift.”

“What, ‘cuz I almost died?”

“ _Osamu!_ ” Mama Miya scolded. “What’ve I been tellin’ you and Atsumu?”

“Not to dwell on the what-ifs?”

“Attaboy.” She patted his head and straightened up.

Atsumu chimed in, “The flowers are from the florist down the street. She got wind of what we were doin’ and she called me insistin’ on sendin’ some over.”

“Kano-san? The old woman?”

“That’s the one.” Atsumu smirked. “She’s obsessed with ya.”

“I swear to god, ‘Tsumu--”

Mama Miya cut in, “She’s a nice lady. I think it’s endearing. Atsumu, be nicer to yer brother on his special day, would ya?”

As Atsumu sputtered, it was Osamu’s turn to stick his tongue out at him. From across the counter, Sakusa simply sighed.

“C’mon, Ma, leave him be and help me find a jar or somethin’ for a vase,” Atsumu said, tugging their mother away toward the back. That left Osamu and Sakusa alone again; that is, until moments later when Bokuto barreled into the picture like a runaway rail car, sending Sakusa flying out of his skin.

“Omi-Omi!” he shouted. “Come hang out with us! You too, Myaa-sam!”

“No,” Sakusa said.

Mourning the loss of his fragile peace yet again, Osamu asked, “Bokuto-kun, I thought Akaashi-kun was coming up from Tokyo this weekend?”

Bokuto redirected his attention to him and shrugged. “Work thing. He’ll be in town soon, I’m sure. Wait! That reminds me!” He reached into his pocket and slapped something soft and smooth into Osamu’s hand. Osamu opened his fingers and rolled it around in his palm; it was a squishy stress ball, shaped like a little onigiri.

“I heard you were dealing with some anxiety, so I thought you might be able to use it. Keiji has the same one, but it’s an owl. He suggested it to me.”

Osamu smiled and gave it a squeeze. “Thanks, man. That’s real thoughtful of ya; Akaashi-kun too.”

Bokuto grinned. “I’m glad you’re back on your feet, Myaa-sam! Tsum-Tsum looked so sad all the time, I didn’t know how to help.”

“Thanks for looking after ‘im for me.” Osamu’s eyes slid over to Sakusa. “Both of ya.”

Sakusa shrugged. “You don’t need to thank me.”

Atsumu whirled back into sight, clapping his brother on the shoulder. Before he could speak, Sakusa put a hand out across the counter.

“Oh my god, Miya, please sit down,” he begged. “You have been running around for weeks. Just chill out, please, you’re making my head spin.”

“In a minute, Omi-kun,” Atsumu insisted. “Go back with Bokkun and Shouyou, I’ll join ya after I talk to ‘Samu.”

“Fine,” Sakusa grumbled, and he reluctantly let Bokuto drag him back to their table, where Hinata was tapping away at his phone while he waited for their return. The twins released a heavy sigh in unison.

“Big day?” Atsumu asked, pulling up a stool behind the counter.

Osamu snorted. “Got that right. Sakusa’s right, though. Ya should relax.”

“I will. I just wanted to sit with ya for a minute.” A pause. “I’ve got one more surprise for ya.”

“Seriously, ‘Tsumu?”

Atsumu put his hands up placatingly. “It’s nothin’ crazy! Just a little somethin’ Suna helped me put together.” He reached around the counter to where Osamu could not see and brought back a bag. From it Atsumu lifted a black, button-bound album with the Onigiri Miya logo emblazoned on the front in gold lettering. He placed it in front of Osamu, whose heart stuttered in his chest.

“I know how much that old album meant to ya,” Atsumu explained. “And I know I can’t replace everything that was lost in the fire. But I wanted to give ya a reminder of what ya _do_ have that could never be replaced.”

With one finger, Osamu carefully lifted open the cover and peeked inside the album. The first pages contained the rest of the salvaged remnants of the old album, blackened in places like the old picture of the twins on the wall. Then, there were more pictures; printouts of Yelp reviews, Tweets, and Instagram comments in support of Osamu and his business and inquiring about his welfare; and messages from friends and family, some handwritten and others typed.

“Shit, ‘Tsumu, this is--” Osamu took a shuddering breath. “Thank you.”

“Ya okay?”

Osamu nodded and smiled at his brother. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m better than fine, honest.”

“I’ll leave ya to it,” Atsumu said, patting him on the back. Then he stood up and walked away, back toward where Sakusa was sending him SOS signals with his eyes.

Osamu flipped through the album. Some of the photos were older, but many were ones he hadn’t seen before. Among others, there was a picture of Atsumu face-down in a pile of documents and catalogs at the table in what looked like his dorm kitchen, with Hinata looking forlornly at him. There was another that showed him and Atsumu both asleep at the hospital, one of Atsumu, Suna, Hinata, and Sakusa all gathered around Mama Miya’s kotatsu, and another of Suna kicking at a copy machine, with what looked like Komori’s face in the corner. There was also the picture Osamu had taken outside the shop the other day, and their Instagram selfie on Mama Miya’s back porch.

Many of the pages were filled with online comments asking where he was or wishing him a speedy recovery. Interspersed with the photos were the written messages that came from old friends, acquaintances, and Atsumu’s teammates alike: Aran’s firm warnings, Hinata’s doodles of volleyballs, well wishes from Komori, further inquiry about a Tokyo branch from Akaashi, a lot of exclamation points from Bokuto, Sakusa’s blunt but genuine greeting, and a sweet and succinct _“Don’t forget the basics. Be well.”_ from Kita. There were quite a few more, including one from their mother, but the very last was Atsumu’s:

  
  


_‘Samu,_

_Always remember how many people care about you. You don’t have to go it alone. Our whole lives, you were always right there next to me, and I don’t plan on going on without you any time soon._

_But if you think I’ll ever start going easy on you, you’re dead wrong. I still have every intention of beating you in the end, scrub. Just remember that the results ain’t the most important part._

_Love, ‘Tsumu_

  
  


“Osamu?”

Osamu lifted his head. Kita stood in front of him, a knowing smile on his face.

“Ah, Kita-san. Sorry,” Osamu said.

“I have to go soon,” Kita explained. “But I wanted a chance to speak with ya properly.”

Osamu gestured to the empty counter seating. “Have a seat.”

Kita obliged. He regarded him carefully for a moment, and then let his eyes rove around the room before returning to Osamu.

“So, Osamu,” he said. “Did you ever figure out what it is that makes ya love cooking so much?”

Osamu rolled the idea around on his tongue, eyes wandering around the shop. He saw Aran engaged in a polite conversation with Mama Miya, Suna and the others laughing about something, and Bokuto and Hinata trying to get Sakusa to take a selfie with them. And then he saw Atsumu, standing quiet and contemplative in front of the photo wall, and he thought about rice, and a careful hand, and the nurturing rain that falls in the summertime. And the answer dawned on him clear as day, as if he had always known it to be true, and maybe he had.

“Yeah, Kita-san,” Osamu said, gripping the sides of the album in his hands. “I think I have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be more like a short epilogue! Thanks everyone for following along!


	19. Rice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The results, in the end, were only arbitrary.
> 
> OR: October arrives, the rice grows big and tall, and everything is okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The (very short) epilogue. Thank you to everyone who has stuck around for the ride and to everyone who finds this fic someday and makes it to the end! I have enjoyed reading all your comments so much, to the point where getting a notification literally makes my day and I wait for them every time I post a chapter.
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy, and until we meet again, thank you, and be safe!

The summer came and drifted by in a humid haze of lunch rushes, blessed breaks in training, and dodging raindrops on the way to the train. And then as quick as it came, the summer rains departed and the days stretched thin. October soon arrived, and with it, the start of a brand new V.League season for the MSBY Black Jackals.

Atsumu stood tall at the back line, feeling the solid weight of the ball between his palms. When the whistle blew, at the closing of his raised fist the Jackals’ crowd went quiet. There, in that space of a few seconds between signal and serve, the stadium lights and packed seats seemed to melt away into white noise at the back of his mind until there was only the court left, with his teammates’ backs in front of him and the opposing team’s defensive positions laid out in perfect clarity before him. That, and a single pair of eyes drilling into the back of his skull, saying,  _ “Make this shot or I’ll kill ya.” _

The serve toss went up, and Atsumu leapt high and swung all the force of his years of training into the ball, propelling it across the net with a deadly spin. Its wobbly trajectory took a hard left and ricocheted off the opposing receiver’s arms to land out of bounds with an unforgiving  _ slam _ . The Jackals had won the game in straight sets, ending 26-24.

The crowd went ballistic, and Atsumu was soon drowned in a heap of his celebrating teammates (with the exception of Sakusa, who waited patiently for the high-fives that would come when the dogpile came apart).

At Atsumu’s back, behind the court, stood Osamu, preparing in earnest for the post-game snack rush. Sometimes, at times like this, he was hit with a wave of nostalgia for the days when it had been him and his brother celebrating on court together, but it was a bittersweet flicker that was quickly extinguished; they would celebrate together later, somehow, in their own way.

It had come to be that way, over time. Though their paths diverged, it would always be Atsumu and Osamu side-by-side, racing each other forward but always stopping to pull the other to their feet. They would knock each other down, but they would always stitch each other’s wounds, and they would wait patiently along the riverbank until both of them were dry again, however long it took. It was Atsumu and Osamu, Osamu and Atsumu, and god-willing it always would be, and above that simple fact little else mattered; the results, in the end, were only arbitrary.

And somewhere miles away, where the mountains loomed like the towering giants of their fleeting youth, the rice grew tall and hearty under a blue October sky. It was Atsumu, and Osamu, and rice. There was always rice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that the recurring themes of rice, water/rain, healing, etc. came though in this fic! That was kind of the core of the story I wanted to tell. (Spoiler alert: The riverbank photo!)
> 
> Anyway, this marks the end. I have a couple ideas for (WAY SHORTER) fics though, so hopefully I'll write those at some point? At any rate, thanks again for reading, and I hope we meet again some day!


End file.
